Nothing Lost
by bingblot
Summary: "Montgomery was dead. Beckett would be devastated. It didn't matter that Castle hadn't seen her in almost two years. Right now, in the face of this loss, all he knew was this overwhelming concern, this need to make sure she was okay." An AU version of "Knockout."
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All things "Castle" belong to Andrew Marlowe and ABC & Co.

Author's Note: And now for another story… An AU version of "Knockout," in which Beckett didn't let Castle come back after he looked into her mom's case.

* * *

"For whatsoever from one place doth fall, Is with the tide unto another brought: For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought." - Edmund Spenser, _The Faerie Queene_

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 1_

For the rest of his life, Castle would be able to pinpoint the exact spot on the sidewalk where he was standing when he saw the news. And stood riveted, staring at his phone for a moment before he fumbled to pull up the entire news article.

_Decorated NYPD Captain Killed in Ambush. _That stark headline alert was accompanied by the lede, identifying the Captain as Roy Montgomery of the 12th Precinct.

Captain Montgomery was dead.

He skimmed the article telling the story of a shootout in an airplane hangar in New Jersey, resulting in the deaths of not just Montgomery but also of three others, including one who was identified as a murderer who had escaped the other day when a flash bomb had been set off in a courtroom where he had been for a hearing.

The sketchy details the police released in such instances were just the tip of the iceberg so he knew there was a much bigger story behind this but not one for public knowledge. His burning curiosity for the whole story about what had happened to Montgomery was drowned out in another more urgent concern, encapsulated in a single word that seemed seared onto his brain.

Beckett.

Oh god, Beckett would be devastated. He knew how much Montgomery had meant to Beckett, more than just her boss but also as a mentor, a friend, a man she respected and looked up to in a way Beckett reserved for few other people in her life.

He had no right but for once, he didn't think about that. All his doubts, his regrets, his fears, fell away, reduced to cinders because of this overwhelming concern, this need to make sure she was okay.

It didn't matter that he hadn't even seen Beckett in almost two years. It didn't even matter that as far as he knew, she might not have forgiven him for looking into her mom's case. He even forgot that as far as Beckett was concerned, he might well be the last person she would want to see.

He had walked away from her once because she had asked him to and after going against her wishes in such a disastrous way, he had resolved never to do so again. And even now, he knew that if she told him she didn't want to see him, he would leave. Again.

But at that moment, he needed to see her, needed to see how she was coping. Needed to offer his condolences, his support. Anything.

Right now, in the face of this loss, nothing mattered except this need to see how she was doing.

As Castle had long ago accepted, when it came to Kate Beckett, there was almost nothing he wouldn't do. If she asked, if she ever needed or wanted anything, it was never a question of 'if' or even 'how much' for him. For Kate Beckett, his answer was—and would always be—yes.

There were times he almost hated it, thought it was pathetic to be so hung up over a woman who had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, but he couldn't seem to help it. He had tried. God knows, he had tried. But even in just the space of those few months shadowing her at the precinct, she had somehow imprinted herself on his mind, his heart, his soul—and he could not erase her.

But it wasn't only about her; it was also about him, what he had learned because of her. He had wronged her, he knew that now. He understood that he had violated her trust and her privacy, pried into matters that he had no right to look into. And he had done so because he had decided that he knew what was best for her; he had decided that he could help her, save her, even when she hadn't asked to be helped or saved.

So when he acknowledged that he would do anything for Beckett, it was part of his atonement. After what he had done, prying into the most personal, devastating thing in her life, he owed her nothing less.

Castle had been on his way to Black Pawn for a meeting, another meeting in which Gina would try to pin him down about ideas for his next book, no doubt, but he sent a quick email cancelling it because an emergency had come up without a qualm. And hailed a cab to head to the Twelfth Precinct for the first time in almost two years.

If it had been under any circumstances, he would have found the atmosphere at the precinct after such a major loss to be a fascinating research opportunity. Under the circumstances, well, he could only ache over the loss.

Even the lobby of the precinct that was usually buzzing with cops chatting was subdued today, as people went about their business without any of the usual smiles and banter. The cops all had black mourning bands on their badges.

The desk officer recognized Castle and nodded in greeting. "Castle, it's been a long time."

Castle shook Paderewski's hand. "Good to see you. I heard about Montgomery."

Paderewski's expression became more solemn. "Yeah, it's a loss. He was one of the good ones."

Typical understated praise for a cop but knowing them as Castle did, it was also just about the highest accolade cops could give. "Yeah, he was." He gestured with his head to the elevator behind the barrier. "I thought I'd pay my respects."

Paderewski nodded, waving a hand. "Yeah, go on up." He hesitated for a moment and then added, "They're all pretty upset up there."

And Castle understood that by 'they,' Paderewski meant the homicide division generally and Beckett, Esposito, and Ryan more specifically. Homicide because it was, by its very nature and also because of Montgomery's experience in it, the division most closely associated with Montgomery and also because Beckett's team was the one most closely associated with Montgomery. Partly because they were the best homicide team but as everyone generally acknowledged, Beckett was Montgomery's favorite, 'the teacher's pet' as those who were not as much Beckett fans tended to put it, or the one Montgomery was trying to groom as his successor and heir apparent, for those who were more Beckett fans.

It wasn't a surprise but Castle's heart still twisted. Because if Beckett was upset enough that Paderewski could see it and speak of it, that spoke of a level of devastation Castle had never seen in her. Deeper than the hurt and betrayal he'd seen when he'd told her about looking into her mom's case—and that already was much more hurt than he ever, ever wanted to see on Beckett's face.

It was strange, walking into a place where he had once spent so much time (where he had been so happy) but had not set foot in for well over a year. Stranger still because of the subdued atmosphere.

Captain Montgomery's office was dark, he saw, with a black ribbon draped over the chair and over the desk, a seal placed on the closed door.

Karpowski was the first person who spotted him after he stepped off the elevator, surprise flashing over her face, as she returned from the file room, he guessed, from the folder she was carrying. "Hey, Castle."

"Hey. I stopped by to say sorry about Montgomery," he managed, not quite smoothly.

Karpowski nodded. "Yeah, I kinda guessed."

"How've you been?" he asked, even as his eyes roamed over the bullpen, looking for more familiar faces—oh, who was he kidding, he was looking for Beckett.

He didn't see her or Esposito or Ryan immediately, guessed they might be in one of the conference rooms or maybe the break room.

"Not bad except for the Captain," Karpowski answered.

He jerked his eyes back to her, hoping his distraction hadn't been that obvious, and then they were joined by LT, who paused when he noticed Castle and detoured towards him.

"Castle. Hey, it's good to see you, man."

Castle shook LT's hand, managing a small smile. "Hey, LT. How's it going? Sorry to hear about the Captain."

"I gotta get back to work. Nice seeing you, Castle," Karpowski inserted and he gave her a distracted wave before turning his attention back to LT.

LT's normally sober face appeared even graver than usual. "Yeah, it's tough."

Castle hesitated but then ventured, "What happened? How'd Montgomery end up out in that hangar?"

It was LT's turn to hesitate. "I'm not sure. I know it's something about that guy who escaped from the hearing and was also killed but how that ended up with Montgomery…" He paused and finally went on, "You'd probably better ask Beckett."

Castle barely heard the last sentence because as LT said those words, Castle sensed or more prosaically, saw out of the corner of his eye that Beckett had just emerged from one of the conference rooms with Esposito and Ryan in tow. And as he would have expected, everything in him, all his awareness, his senses, zeroed in on Beckett as everything else, including LT, seemed to fade away for a moment. All he knew was her.

Beckett. Right there, just yards away.

He had expected that reaction, seeing Beckett again for the first time in so long, but the actual impact of it was still stunning. Happiness, grief, guilt, hurt, loss, affection, relief, worry. And still, in spite of everything, physical attraction, that instant flash of want he couldn't seem to help and by now, was convinced he would always feel for her.

"And there she is, so check with her." Castle only peripherally heard LT's voice, managed to flick his eyes back at the cop.

"Yeah, thanks," he managed distractedly and was barely conscious of LT walking away.

Beckett noticed him, their eyes meeting across the bullpen and he almost imagined he heard an actual click as their gazes locked. Her eyes widened a little in shock and—the breath he had momentarily lost just at the sight of her left him again because he thought—was it possible?—that for a fleeting moment, she looked… happy?

No, that couldn't be it, he told himself. He had to be imagining things.

And in another second, her Beckett mask was firmly back in place, her expression once more resembling marble—smooth and cool and impenetrable.

The boys' gazes followed Beckett's and they were easier to read.

"Castle," Espo stated flatly.

"Castle," Ryan echoed almost at the same time, a faint smile flickering over his lips. But then Castle already knew that Ryan didn't hate him. Ryan was the only one of the three that he had seen since he'd left the precinct, at first by accident, when he and Alexis had been out for dinner and had run into Ryan and his then-girlfriend, now-fiancee Jenny. Since then, Ryan and he exchanged occasional texts and Ryan was probably his main source of information about Beckett, although Ryan was too loyal to Beckett to reveal much. Most recently, Ryan had called him up to ask for a favor to help him get a reservation at an exclusive restaurant to take Jenny out for dinner on Valentine's Day.

Castle finally managed to uproot his feet from where they seemed to have taken root, and moved forward to Beckett. Towards all three of them, he mentally corrected himself. He should not be so exclusively focused on Beckett. They were all affected by this loss. (Oh, who was he kidding? It was Beckett he cared about the most.)

She looked pale, he noticed, and tired, even drawn, as if she hadn't slept at all. An ordinary observer might not notice but Castle's eyes were made sharper by absence and concern and because he had, after all, spent almost six months working closely beside her. And he saw the subtle signs of grief, of devastation. Her eyelids looked a little swollen from tears, there were some faint lines around her mouth he wasn't used to seeing.

"The hell are you doing here, Castle?" Espo asked as he neared.

He inwardly winced. Okay, well, that showed how much Espo had forgiven him.

But to his surprise, Beckett was the one who spoke up, silencing Espo with little more than a look and a word. "Castle. It's been a long time."

Absurdly, the neutral greeting made him feel a little better. She wasn't still angry, at least she didn't sound it. "Hey, guys. I saw the news, about the Captain. I wanted to say sorry. He was… a good friend. He'll be missed." God, he sounded awkward. Where was all his vaunted skill with words when he needed it?

For just a moment, devastation flashed across Beckett's face. And was he imagining it or was there something like betrayal glittering in her eyes too? Of course, that could be his betrayal, he thought with a sinking heart.

"Thanks," was all Beckett said, her composure once more in place.

As if Beckett's acceptance of his condolence had been a signal, the boys reacted, Ryan reaching out and shaking Castle's hand, accepting Castle's brief grip on his shoulder. "Hey, good to see you, man," Ryan said, following it up with a flicker of an actual smile.

Espo didn't unbend enough to shake Castle's hand, only nodded. "It's been a while, Castle."

"Yeah, yeah, it has been," he said inanely and then couldn't help himself. "What happened? What was Montgomery doing there?" he blurted out.

He regretted it the next instant as the entire atmosphere changed, tension spiking. Beckett's stance shifted almost imperceptibly, seeming to curl in on herself, except no, that wasn't it, it was more as if her body, her physical energy, just… tightened, as if she were bracing herself. She and the boys all exchanged swift glances and Castle noted it with his gut twisting. There was something else going on, something more than just Montgomery's death. This wasn't some run-of-the-mill case. Although he supposed he should have known that because a run-of-the-mill case wouldn't involve the Captain, let alone result in a massacre in an airplane hangar.

The boys were quite obviously leaving it up to Beckett to determine what and how much to tell him and she finally responded, "Let's talk in the conference room."

"Okay."

She dismissed the boys with a look and Castle felt a pang at how familiar it was, her bossiness, their obedience. It was a strange time to realize it and an even stranger thing to miss but he had missed it. Not Beckett's bossiness per se (well, maybe a little, because she was so hot in her bossiness) but her whole air of authority, her competence, and the boys' respect for it. It was one of the things he respected most about her because he knew how much it must have taken for Beckett to have earned the kind of respect she had. And maybe it wasn't that strange of a thing to miss after all because it was part and parcel of Beckett's strength and that was one of the things that had intrigued him about her from the beginning.

She returned to the conference room which she had just been in and he dutifully followed her inside. Almost like old times, he thought wistfully. God, he had missed her. And even though he hadn't thought it until now, it belatedly occurred to him that this could be his second chance. This tragedy pulling him back into her orbit might afford him a second chance to, well, stay in her life.

She took a seat at the head of the conference room table and he sat down on one side, not directly adjacent to her but two seats off. She didn't speak immediately and he finally ventured quietly, "I really am sorry about Montgomery. I know how important he was to you."

Again, that grief he'd seen before flickered across her expression. "Yeah," she agreed briefly. She paused and then let out a breath. "About what happened, it's… a really long, complicated story."

"I've got time," he hurriedly inserted. Having cancelled his morning meeting at Black Pawn without a blink, he had nothing else scheduled and even if he had, he would cancel anything and everything.

Something that might have almost been amusement softened her expression. Certainly some of the faint lines around her lips eased before she sobered. "Maybe but I don't want to get into it all now. It would be… too much. All I'll say now is… it was a trap Montgomery set to try to get those criminals. He went in with a plan and…" her voice momentarily shook, stark pain flashing across her face, before she finished, "that was his plan."

Castle forgot how to breathe, his breath stalling in his lungs, as the meaning of what Beckett said sank in. "He knew what was going to happen," he breathed. No, more than that. "He sacrificed himself." Oh god. But… "But Evelyn, his kids… Why?"

Beckett gave a small wince, paling even more than she already had been. And somehow, that reaction—a dramatic one considering Beckett's usual imperturbability—told him the truth.

He hid a wince of his own. "Never mind," he said hurriedly. "Montgomery must have had his reasons and I'd trust him." He wouldn't make her say it. Couldn't make her say what he knew had to be the case, even if he didn't understand why. Montgomery had sacrificed himself for Beckett. Castle could see it in her expression, recognized the flash of guilt for what it was. Somehow, for some reason, Montgomery had decided it was necessary to take such a drastic step and he had done so in order to save Beckett.

A silence fell. Beckett was clearly lost in her thoughts or trying to contain her emotions. For that matter, Castle needed to come to terms with his, or at least try to. The emotional upheaval of the day was dizzying, starting with the shock and grief at the news of Montgomery's death and then the riot of his emotions in seeing Beckett for the first time in more than a year.

But now, the initial shock of it over, his thoughts started churning again and he realized, remembered, now that he had seen Beckett again, there was something he needed to tell her. What he'd tried to tell her in a voicemail which he suspected, in his more optimistic moments, had gone unheard because he had never received a response (while in his more pessimistic moments, he thought she had listened but still not responded).

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

"You already said that."

"No, I didn't mean, I was sorry about Montgomery, although I am. I meant, I'm sorry about what I did, back then." He inwardly winced. What was it with Beckett and her ability to turn him into such an idiot, stumbling over his words, when he was supposed to be a wordsmith? (Except he knew exactly why.) He didn't want to bring another painful subject up, not today of all days, but he had to and forged on. "Looking into your mom's case. Now that I have the chance, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry so hear me out, please. It was wrong of me. I interfered in something I had no right to interfere in. I violated your privacy and betrayed your trust. I was rash and selfish and I did not consider your feelings. Whatever happens, just know that I'm very sorry." He stopped, running out of breath as he hadn't paused to breathe during his apology.

"Castle…" she almost sighed, quietly. "I forgave you a long time ago. I… should have told you, called you or something, but it had been so long and… I wasn't sure if you'd want to hear from me…"

"Why wouldn't I want to hear from you?" he blurted out, latching onto this one thing in the midst of his roiling emotions. She had forgiven him.

She blinked, a shifting ray of sunlight from the window slanting across her face, catching the green and gold sparks in her eyes, and he felt his heart twist, even as it bounded inside his chest. God, she had such gorgeous eyes. He had somehow almost forgotten just how incredible her eyes were.

She sat back, shifting out of the direct sun, shrugging a little. "I just… wasn't sure. You'd moved on, gone back to your normal life…"

He inwardly boggled. She thought he'd moved on? (Well, of course she would, a little voice in his mind reminded him. Why would she think otherwise? She didn't know just how little he'd been able to move on.) He felt a quick pang of regret that she hadn't called—or he should have tried to contact her sooner. But he'd given up when she stopped answering his calls or his texts, when she hadn't responded to his voicemail, had not shown up to the _Heat Wave_ launch party. He had ignored her wishes once already and he wasn't about to compound his sin by forcing his company on her when she didn't want him around so he'd stayed away, stopped trying to contact her.

"I would still have wanted to hear from you," he assured her, trying to sound bland. "We were friends." They had been, before he'd screwed everything up.

An expression he couldn't read flashed across her face but then the set of her mouth eased, softened. "Yeah. And here you are, because of Montgomery."

He wasn't quite sure how to interpret that. She sounded matter of fact, as if she was stating what day of the week it was. But did she think it was a good thing? She had forgiven him, seemed as if she wouldn't have minded hearing from him earlier. She didn't hate him.

He knew it was way too soon and pushing was the last thing he would ever do but he couldn't help the little tendril of hope sprouting up inside his chest. Maybe, this could be a second chance of sorts. Maybe they could be friends again…

_~To be continued…~_


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Apologies for the longer-than-usual wait for this chapter but RL got in the way. And in this chapter, we get to see some of what Beckett is thinking…

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 2_

There was a moment of silence while Castle tried, without any success, to tamp down on the hope taking root inside him. And studied Beckett—creepy staring, she would call it, he thought with a pang—taking in her much longer hair, the curls softening her face. Yes, she was pale and exhausted, looking as if she hadn't slept at all the night before, but god, she was beautiful, so very beautiful it made his entire chest seem to ache.

In the last year and more, he had tried to get past her, his infatuation with her. (_Oh, who are you trying to kid, Rick? It was more than infatuation._) He had told himself he had gotten over her, had managed to convince himself for a while that he was over her. He had been on a number of dates, had even given his relationship with Gina a second chance, striving to recapture what had once been good about their relationship that had made him propose to her in the first place all those years ago. It hadn't worked. (Although on second thought, the failure of his relationship with Gina had probably been about as surprising as the sun rising in the east.) Every woman he met suffered from a single fatal flaw that made it impossible for them to hold his interest for very long: not being Kate Beckett. It was irrational and unfair and stupid but it was true.

And seeing her again made it impossible to deny that in spite of everything, he was in love with Beckett. Still. Not even almost two years of absence had changed that. He could almost laugh at the absurdity, except that it wasn't funny at all, more tragic, that after 40 years of life, he was experiencing real, unrequited love for the first time in his life. And what made it worse was that he knew it was his own fault that he'd been kicked out of her life.

He had never before believed it was possible for 'the one that got away' to be someone he'd never actually been with, more than that, someone who, as far as he knew, he'd never had much of a chance with. Now, he knew better. Beckett was really the one that got away.

He suppressed a sigh and glanced at Beckett, who was gazing absently out the window and thinking about Montgomery, he guessed, from the melancholy expression on her face. But then she blinked and seemed to return to the present, flickering an uncertain look at him from under her lashes. (Uncertain, Beckett? Now, he had to be imagining things, right?)

"It's good to see you." The words slipped from his mouth of their own volition and he inwardly winced. _Smooth, Rick._

But oddly, it seemed to be the right thing to say somehow because her expression softened as she gave him a pale smile, the first smile since he'd seen her. "How are Alexis and Martha?"

This was why he loved her, he thought, rather fuzzily. Because she was really interested; it wasn't some meaningless inquiry to be polite, he could tell. She cared about people. Even now, in the middle of a devastating tragedy, she honestly wanted to know about his family. For all her reserve and reticence, her implacable will and strength, she was also kind, felt things deeply. He had seen glimpses of the depths of her heart and he'd never forgotten, could never forget, her compassion and empathy for victims' families. The way she had listened and helped Joanne Delgado, the daughter of the woman who'd been murdered in the home invasion; the way she had retreated to Angela Candela's room while waiting for word from the kidnappers, as if even then, she'd wanted to be closer to the little girl.

Beckett didn't know his mother or Alexis that well—his own stupidity had prevented that—but even now, after almost two years, she cared about their well-being and he knew without saying that if either of them had ever come to her for anything, she would have helped without thought.

"They're fine. My mother is her usual self, out and about, keeping herself busy with her acting school."

Beckett's smile widened a little. "Martha's started an acting school? That's impressive. Tell her I said so."

He grimaced. "I try not to boost her ego like that." He said it automatically, even as he sent silent thanks to his mother, deciding he would refrain from comment when his mother's next credit card statement arrived. If the mention of his mother and her irrepressible behavior could make Beckett smile today…

His expression and his mood softened further at the thought of his daughter, still and always the best part of his life (possibly the only part of his life that was still a source of joy to him, but he tried to push the thought aside). "And Alexis is doing well. I think she's going to get straight A's again this semester." He pulled a face of woe that was only half-feigned. "She has a boyfriend, who's graduating this year and going to Stanford, and she's planning to graduate early and go to Stanford to be with him." He was living in fear of the day Alexis left for college, terrified not only for her sake (alone, surrounded by college boys) but for his. What would he do without her? The last summer when Alexis had gone to Princeton had nearly killed him; he had missed her so much he'd felt like an addict in withdrawal. But at least Princeton was close enough that he'd still been able to see her every few weeks. Sending her to the other side of the country for months on end? He might have to pitch a tent on Stanford's campus or more prosaically, buy a house in Palo Alto just so he could see Alexis regularly. The idea of living in the loft without Alexis was depressing beyond belief.

"That's great. I think she'll have an amazing time at Stanford."

"I think you meant, it's terrible," he corrected only half-jokingly. "My baby girl shouldn't be getting ready to leave for college at all, let alone college on the other side of the country."

She rolled her eyes a little and he felt a ridiculous surge of happiness followed by a pang because he had missed that too, the way Beckett rolled her eyes when he said something silly. (Yes, he knew he was absurd.)

"She's a smart girl; she'll be fine."

"I'm more worried about me and what I'll do without her taking care of me," he managed to quip.

He was rewarded with a flash of a real smile and his heart leaped at the sight. Yeah, he really would do just about anything to see her smile, wouldn't he? That had been the case from pretty much the moment he'd met her and should have been enough of a sign to realize that he loved her but no, he hadn't realized it until it had been too late, until she hadn't responded to his voicemail apology and he began to accept that when Beckett had said they were done, she'd meant it.

The last few minutes, the normal conversation, had lightened the atmosphere but then it was over as Beckett startled a little, pulling out her vibrating phone from her pocket. It was almost shocking the way her expression collapsed, the flash of stark emotion on her face. "It's Evelyn," she said briefly and he jerked upright in his seat as she answered.

"Beckett."

It was an odd thing to hear only half of what had to be a heavy, emotional conversation. Beckett's expression was as controlled as usual after the initial reaction and she nodded and murmured assent and understanding a few times but then her eyes widened in surprise and she shot him an unreadable glance, confusing him. What did he have to do with this call?

"Of course, Evelyn. Should we come over now?"

Beckett listened as Evelyn spoke and then answered, "That's no problem. We'll see you this afternoon then."

There was another pause and then Beckett was murmuring goodbye and ending the call, looking up at him the moment she had.

"That was Evelyn Montgomery," she began unnecessarily. He nodded and she continued, her voice sounding strictly controlled. "She was looking through Captain Montgomery's desk at home and found two sealed envelopes."

"He left a letter for you?" Castle asked quietly.

"One is for me and the other envelope is addressed to you."

He jolted, staring. If it had been anyone else, in any other situation, he might have blurted out something like, you have got to be kidding, but as it was, he could only stare. Montgomery had left a letter for him? But… why? He cudgeled his brain for a possible reason but couldn't think of one. Not anything that really made sense. He'd last seen Roy about six weeks ago at the most recent poker game and Roy had been his usual self then. And for all that Roy himself wasn't angry at Castle and had mentioned he was sorry Castle wasn't coming into the precinct anymore, he had also made it clear that he wasn't going to interfere and when it came down to it, Castle had been in no doubt that Roy was on Beckett's side. Knowing the Captain, Castle hadn't expected anything else.

"To me?" he finally repeated, inanely.

"Yeah. Evelyn wasn't sure of your number so she also asked me to contact you."

"Oh." His lips formed the word but he wasn't sure if it was audible.

"She said she has business to take care of now, has to meet with some people, let them know about… what happened," and now, Beckett's voice quivered for a moment before she got it under control, "but said she'll be free later this afternoon. I need to talk to her about funeral arrangements so I thought we could go over together, if that's okay with you."

He nodded rapidly. "Of course. I have no plans today." For that matter, he would cancel plans with the Pope, the president, William Shatner, and Patrick Stewart for this.

"You've been talking to Montgomery?" It wasn't entirely a question.

"I've seen him occasionally, my Gotham poker group, remember?"

"Oh, right."

"Yeah, so I saw him last month for poker but we didn't really talk." By which he meant and knew she would understand that he meant that he and Roy hadn't talked about her. They hadn't. Castle asked after the team—i.e., Beckett, Esposito, and Ryan—whenever he did see Montgomery at the poker games, a poor disguise for his burning curiosity about Beckett, but Montgomery's answers had always been limited to things like, 'they're working on a case' or 'they just finished a case.' It wasn't nearly enough but at least he'd known that Beckett was generally fine.

"Then why would he write to you?"

"I have no idea," he answered honestly.

"Right, of course, never mind." Beckett gave him the ghost of an apologetic smile, making his stupid, susceptible heart bound. She sighed a little. "I should get back to work. I have a lot of stuff to take care of with Montgomery…" She made an uncharacteristically aimless gesture with a hand. "Well, you can imagine."

"Don't let me keep you." He paused and then offered, "Why don't I run out, pick up some lunch for everyone, and if you don't mind, I'll stick around here until we need to leave?"

"Trying to ingratiate yourself with everyone with food, Castle?" There was a hint of teasing in her tone. The first flash of Beckett's usual teasing—and her strength at being able to find humor at such a time—almost made him forget how to breathe for a moment.

"Ingratiate, great word," he managed.

"Glad you approve, Mr. Webster," she responded dryly and there was the familiar Beckett snark too. Oh, he had missed her.

"You know me; I'm a wordsmith. Good vocabulary is the first way to my heart," he flipped back unthinkingly and then stopped, abruptly and stupidly self-conscious. His heart—that Beckett had already won a long time ago and still had no interest in. "Not that you—I didn't mean—uh…" he awkwardly and hurriedly added, only to falter, not even sure what he'd meant to say.

"You promised us lunch?" she prompted, thankfully ignoring his gaffe.

"Yes," he accepted the out eagerly. "Lunch for everyone, coming right up."

He might have gone overboard with the lunch, he acknowledged later, assuaging his emotions with a flurry of spending. First, he had a bunch of pizzas and sodas delivered to the precinct as a whole and then he went to a deli down the street that he remembered Beckett liking and ordered a fleet of sandwiches for the homicide division. After that, with two large bags full of sandwiches on his arm, he had stopped off to get coffee for Beckett.

Unsurprisingly, he was greeted rather more effusively on his return to the precinct, noting without surprise that the pizzas, although they appeared to have just been delivered, had already been picked over and looked like the aftermath of a locust attack. Up in homicide, Espo unbent enough to give him a brief, stiff smile and nod of thanks, and he was clapped on the shoulder multiple times by the other cops as he unloaded the sandwich bags. With the attention he received, it was a couple minutes before he made his way to Beckett's desk, personally delivering her sandwich and her coffee.

The chair—his chair—was back beside her desk. He had peripherally noted earlier that it was gone but had been too focused on Beckett to give any thought to it but now he noticed. And it was back.

It should have been—it was—ridiculous for him to feel like he'd won a Pulitzer just at the sight of a dingy, old chair but he did, his silly heart leaping, that tenacious seedling of hope growing rapidly.

Castle sat down once again in his chair, feeling as if something that had been awry had finally been set right. It should have been crazy, considering how much time had passed, but he couldn't help but think that here, by Beckett's side, was where he belonged, where he wanted to be. It might be a temporary state of affairs but he would enjoy it while he could.

* * *

Kate knew it was silly, completely irrational. But in what she already knew was going to be one of the hardest days of her career, she couldn't help but be relieved to have a little bit of happiness, one good thing, in this otherwise bleak day. It would be a temporary state of affairs—she didn't expect Castle to stick around—but on this one day, she would take any bright spot.

She drank her coffee with a depth of gratitude she hadn't felt for Castle bringing her coffee before—but then, as she had long ago realized, she had taken Castle for granted, never stopped to consider what he actually did for her or added to her life, so focused on her ongoing irritation at his persistent childishness and reckless immaturity. But now, she sipped her coffee, savoring it, and snuck tiny glances at him from beneath her lashes when she could get away with it, and took what comfort she could find in his company, in knowing he was there.

Castle, once more occupying the old seat beside her desk, when she'd honestly thought she would never see him again. As far as he was concerned, she'd been convinced that ship had sailed. After all, she hadn't heard a word from him in almost two years. Even the invitation to the _Heat Wave _launch party had been sent to the precinct and the homicide division generally. Not that she'd ever wanted special treatment as the inspiration for Nikki Heat but still, the lack of a personal invitation had seemed conspicuous. For the first few months after he'd left, she'd half-expected to hear from Captain Montgomery that the Mayor had called to "request" that Castle be allowed to return but there hadn't been.

But then he had shown up today, after seeing the news about the Captain. Shown up to express his condolences, a little awkwardly perhaps but no less sincerely, and in that moment when she'd first looked up and seen him standing there across the bullpen, she had forgotten everything else and just been… happy to see him. To see a friendly face on this grim day. More than that, a friendly face who was unconnected to the tragic events of the night before.

Yes, she was glad to see him again. Someone who, no matter what mistakes he'd made, she knew was on her side. She had, although she would probably never admit it to another living soul, missed him. Had found herself wondering what crazy theory Castle would come up with, in those times when she'd been stuck on a case. And sometimes, it had worked, not because the solution really involved aliens from outer space or a CIA conspiracy or anything so outlandish but because just speculating had often forced her to look at the evidence from a different angle. Another thing she didn't care to admit, that his influence, his out-of-the-box thinking, had made her a better cop, made her think more creatively. She really had missed him, not just his off-the-wall theories, but his sense of humor, his way of adding more humor and lightness to her work.

He stood up for a moment to exchange greetings and chat briefly with Mendez, one of the CSU techs who often worked with them, and she took the opportunity to sneak another glance at him, finding the sight of him strangely… reassuring.

It was a little strange to see someone in person after spending so much time—more time than she would ever admit—hearing his voice in her mind. She had thought about him often enough that he'd become like a phantom presence at her side. '_What would Castle do'_ had become a fairly frequent refrain in her mind. After all that, his physical presence was something of a shock to her senses.

Comforting was not the first word that came to mind to describe Castle and maybe it was only an effect of grief and fatigue but somehow, he was a comforting sight. She had forgotten somehow just how solidly built he was, his height, the breadth of his shoulders, the strong planes of his chest still evident even through his shirt. Looking at him now, the errant thought that it might be nice to be held, to be able to lean against that strong chest and find comfort in his warmth and strength, slithered into her mind. Except no. She couldn't—wouldn't—need anyone like that. Clearly, she was distraught and overly emotional. It was an aberration born out of sleeplessness and sorrow, that was all.

Anyway, she didn't expect Castle would be sticking around for long. His silence and distance had made it clear that he had his own life to live, not that she had expected anything different. Multi-millionaire celebrities didn't need to spend their time slumming it in a dingy precinct with regular cops and she fully expected that Castle would go back to his perfect, glamorous life after today.

It was nice of him to have stopped by over Montgomery but losses like this brought people together. But as Kate knew from experience, the concern and sympathy didn't last. When her mom had died—but Kate cut off the thought, the train of memories. No, she couldn't deal with that now.

She let out a breath, inwardly steeling herself, as she turned her attention back to her computer, for the official report she needed to write about Montgomery's death. The horrible word made her pause as she found happening so often today, the stark reality that Captain Montgomery was dead hitting her all over again.

Captain Montgomery, her mentor, her friend. The one who had really taught her how to be a cop, the one who had shown her the kind of detective she wanted to be.

And the man who'd known why her mother had been murdered for years and never told her.

She sucked in a shaky breath, frantically blinking back the tears that pricked at the back of her eyes since she absolutely, positively could not break down here, in the middle of the bullpen. She gripped her desk tightly enough that her knuckles started to ache but she didn't care because the minor physical discomfort distracted her from the seething mess of betrayal and grief she felt.

She almost started when she sensed movement and then a mug with steaming coffee was placed on her desk and gently nudged until it almost brushed against her fingers.

"Here," Castle said, his voice quiet. "You were out of coffee."

It was the smallest of gestures, really, but she wasn't sure she could have taken a big one and even this one little act of kindness was enough, was what she needed. It afforded her the moment she needed to stave off a breakdown.

She managed a faint, wobbly smile. "Thanks." She had forgotten—or tried not to remember or admit—that as annoying as Castle could be, he was also a nice man.

She took a sip, warmed more by his expression and the little gesture, than by the coffee.

Unbidden, she heard her mom's familiar voice in her head. _Just remember, Katie, life never delivers anything that we can't handle. _

She stilled again, trying to breathe through the surge of loss at the thought of her mom, the memories always so much more painful the more she learned about her mom's case, now so mixed up with Montgomery and what she'd learned about him.

Life never delivers anything that we can't handle. Maybe it was crazy, fanciful, but it suddenly occurred to her that this was something like what her mom had meant. To be presented with a coffee, a pleasant surprise, the presence of a friend—because that was what Castle was, wasn't he?—when she had just about reached the end of her emotional tether. Finding a modicum of additional strength in the support of a friend just when her own reserves of strength were failing.

It was a moment of grace, unexpected and unsought, but freely given.

It took most of her remaining reservoir of control to compose the written report on the Captain's death. She kept it sparse out of necessity since there was so much she would need to leave out, for the Captain's memory, his legacy. She stated only that the Captain had followed a lead out to the airplane hangar and that he must have been ambushed there and that she, Esposito, and Ryan had shown up too late to help. Anything else about Montgomery's calling them, about his plan, had to be left out because there was no way to explain why Montgomery had sacrificed himself without going into why he'd felt it necessary to give his life like that, to atone for his past.

The reminder of Montgomery's sacrifice—the memory of his expression, his voice, _This is my spot. This is where I stand—_made her inwardly flinch all over again, her entire chest aching. No, she could not be angry at Montgomery, could not even blame him. She remembered what Montgomery had once said, that we are all of us better than the worst thing we have ever done. It was true. And if Montgomery had made a mistake, he had spent the rest of his career trying to make up for it, being the best cop he could be, training her, Esposito, Ryan, and others to be good cops as well.

She shut her eyes against the threatening tears—again—keeping her head ducked so that no one could see and tried to focus on her breathing, inhaling, holding it, and exhaling again. A technique Royce had once mentioned to help keep her composure, although he had meant it as a trick to keep from losing her temper. But the thought of Royce hurt too, the sting of his betrayal like the lash of a whip.

But at least it worked to fend off tears and after a moment, she dared to lift her head and look up again.

Her movement caught Castle's attention—as it usually had—and he looked up from the little notebook he'd been scribbling in, his eyes meeting hers. His expression was softer than she had ever seen it, at least before today, warm with sympathy and something like understanding, and she didn't know how it was that just his steady, wordless gaze made her feel… better, as if she wasn't so alone.

That thought discomfited her and she cut her gaze away to fall on his notebook and she welcomed the distraction. "Writing anything new?"

He made a small face. "Just jotting down some thoughts, nothing really specific."

That was certainly vague enough. Come to think of it, it was about time he released another book. His latest book, the one book he'd written after _Heat Wave_, had been released last fall but she hadn't heard anything about another book. His website was conspicuously silent about what might be coming next. "You're not working on your next book?"

"You're channeling my publisher now?" he asked wryly with a half-rueful grimace.

"Just idle curiosity," she fibbed. She was curious, yes, but her curiosity was anything but idle. And after his latest book—well, she couldn't help but wonder where he would go with his next one.

He gave a brief, not-quite-chuckle. "Can't blame you for that. I'd like to know what my next book will be about too."

She blinked. He sounded like he was joking but… "You mean, you don't know?"

He grimaced, a shadow flitting across his face. "Writer's block. It happens."

He was trying to sound flippant, she could tell, but his eyes made it clear that he felt anything but and she was suddenly abashed. She hadn't meant to bring up a painful subject. "Sorry," she offered lamely.

Writer's block—for almost nine months?

Ridiculously, she remembered Captain Montgomery telling her that Castle had found the inspiration for his next book in her. Well, he had written _Heat Wave_ and she knew that _Heat Wave_ had done well, stayed on the New York Times bestseller list for some weeks. And even though she wouldn't admit it to anyone else, she had maybe been… not hurt or anything but a little disappointed—just a little—that he had apparently finished with Nikki Heat after just one book. Of course, she didn't know why she should be surprised at that since he had walked out of her life even before that.

He'd written another book after _Heat Wave_ and goodness knows, he'd written plenty of books before he'd met her. His mention of writer's block was the first indication that not everything in his life had gone perfectly since they'd been apart. She wasn't sure what to make of that. It wasn't as if it had anything to do with her. He had moved on with his life just like she had. Well, mostly. And the little part of her that hadn't—well, he was never ever going to know about that. It had always been silly, a pipe dream, one of those meaningless daydreams about 'if you could date a celebrity,' that was all.

What was she doing even thinking about this kind of thing, today of all days? She had work to focus on.

And then, she and Castle needed to go see Evelyn.

Just the thought of Evelyn Montgomery easily yanked Kate out of any other thoughts, focusing her mind. She was going to need all her strength to get through that meeting, she knew it, couldn't even begin to think about anything else.

She pulled her gaze and her mind away from Castle and refocused on her computer, instantly sobering as she realized that with her official report on Montgomery's death written, it was time to get to the request for a Full Honors funeral. And the NYPD bureaucracy being what it was, there was a lot of paperwork to go through for that too. She'd been putting it off but couldn't procrastinate any longer.

Her spine stiffened, her jaw set, and Kate determinedly began, fortified by yet another coffee, which she drank without really tasting it or noticing it at all except the fleeting thought that it had been provided by Castle.

If the sight and presence of Castle was the one bright spot the day had to offer, she could only accept it and be thankful.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: I'm overwhelmed at the response to this story. Thank you to all readers and reviewers, especially the guests whom I can't thank directly.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Apologies for the wait for this chapter but the good news is I should be able to keep to a regular posting schedule from now on.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 3_

Castle had expected that seeing Evelyn would be hard and it was. It might have been one of the most painful meetings of his life. Evelyn looked drained and drawn, as if she'd aged a decade overnight. The contrast with the last time he'd seen her, about six months ago when the poker group had met at Montgomery's house, made his chest feel constricted as if his rib cage had shrunk. Then, she'd been laughing and deftly parrying the mild teasing from the Mayor and Judge Markaway before she'd left the men to their game. He remembered, with a sharp pang, noticing the expression on Roy's face as he watched Evelyn, something like '_man, how lucky am I, to be married to this woman_.' Castle inwardly flinched.

But she managed a fragile ghost of a smile when she greeted him and thanked him for coming and he impulsively stepped forward to give her a quick hug because at that moment, a handshake felt so impersonal as to be almost gruesome. He drew back but kept a hand on her arm for a moment. "I'm so sorry. Roy was a good friend. And if you ever need anything, let me know." He inwardly winced, realizing again just how inadequate words were at times like these. He was a writer but he knew there were no words for this.

"Thank you, Rick. Kate, come in. You must have had a hard day."

Castle almost gaped at Evelyn commiserating with Beckett over having a difficult day—just as if Evelyn's day hadn't been worse—Evelyn just as much a tower of courage as her husband had been.

Beckett too hugged Evelyn in greeting. "I'm fine. How are you and the kids?"

Evelyn's pale smile wavered at the mention of her children. "The kids are over at my sister's house right now," was all she said, apparently not feeling up to admitting out loud that they were devastated, as they had to be.

Castle suddenly desperately wanted to hug Alexis and made a mental note to text her to be sure to come home for dinner.

"Let us know if you need anything. The boys and I will take care of arranging everything for the Full Honors funeral," Beckett told Evelyn quietly, keeping a gentle arm around the other woman's shoulders.

Evelyn nodded, quickly swiping away the tears that welled up. "Thank you, Kate. Roy would—I know Roy would have wanted you to be the one to organize things. He trusted you."

Castle's hand involuntarily lifted to rub his chest, as if he could somehow make the ache in his sternum go away, before he realized the stupidity of that and lowered his hand. Beckett seemed to be even paler now and he really wished he could put his arm around her, do something, anything, to offer comfort or support but he couldn't. He could only watch, awed and humbled all over again by the depths of her strength, her compassion.

Evelyn straightened her shoulders, composing her features, as she led them into what had been Roy's office. "I was looking through Roy's desk and I found some letters he left for you, Kate and Rick. I'm not sure when he wrote them, of course, but he must have meant for you to see them eventually."

Montgomery would have written them recently, maybe just yesterday, from what Beckett had told him about Montgomery having a plan. Just as clearly, Evelyn didn't know that Roy had deliberately sacrificed himself and neither he nor Beckett was about to tell Evelyn that.

Stark emotion quivered across Beckett's expression before she managed to bring it mostly under control. All Castle could do was answer for both of them since he could see Beckett wasn't quite able to speak. "Thank you for letting us know, Evelyn."

"Of course." Evelyn tried—and failed—for a pallid smile. "It's what Roy wanted."

"He'll be missed," Castle managed lamely.

Evelyn choked on a strangled sob and hastily turned away to the desk, picking up two envelopes sitting on it, placing them on the edge of the desk just in front of them. "Here are the letters. You can read them now. Excuse me. I have some calls to make," she managed to say before she fled. Castle guessed that she was escaping in order to regain her composure and could have kicked himself.

Beckett made no move to pick up the envelope, just stared, and after a moment, Castle reached for them, handing her the one addressed simply to 'Beckett' while he picked up the one addressed to 'Rick Castle.'

Beckett sank blindly into the chair in front of the desk before she opened her envelope and Castle saw only that the letter in it was brief, not much more than a few sentences, before she put it away, her lips compressed in a bid for composure.

He hastily averted his eyes, lowering them to his letter, and released an unsteady breath before he opened the envelope. He was immediately surprised to see that his letter was longer than the one to Beckett, filling up an entire page with Roy's somewhat messy handwriting. He half-fell rather than sat in the other chair as he started to read.

_Rick, _

_Beckett will tell you about what I did and I know you'll understand why I'm choosing to do what I am. It is my choice and no one else is to blame. What I did relates to the Johanna Beckett case and that's why I'm writing this to you. I know we agreed that Beckett wasn't to be told about it but I don't want to keep any more secrets from Beckett, not having to do with her mother's case, so I'm asking you now to tell her about Rathborne and the $100,000. It's time she knew. _

_The other reason I'm taking the time to write specifically to you now is also because of Beckett. It's not my place or my right to interfere in such matters but I've known Beckett for longer than anyone else at the 12th Precinct. I saw the potential in her the first moment I met her and I've watched as she's lived up to that potential to become the cop she is now, the best cop I've ever trained, the best cop in the city. I know you recognized how unique she is too. _

_Beckett is a great cop, with her intelligence, her drive. But as proud as I am of her, I've also been concerned for a while now because Beckett never stops working. She's been burning her candle at both ends for years, throwing herself into the job as she does, and that can only lead to burnout. I thought when you started shadowing her that you would help, make her job a little more fun, push her out of her work-life shell. And you did, for a time. We don't need to get into the mistake you made but I believe you've learned from it. _

_This letter is to give you a second chance, a reason to make Beckett contact you and bring you back into her life. I know you still care about her—a lot, if the look on your face whenever you ask about her is any indication—and I also trust that you never meant to hurt her. Which is why I'm telling you this. I thought—and I still think—that you could be good for Beckett, you could be the sort of person she needs. Because Beckett needs someone who will make her laugh, help her see the lighter side of life. You're good at that. And from what I saw when you were shadowing her, you're smart enough to keep up with her too. _

_It's up to you to decide what to do with this, of course, but I hope you try. At least, be a friend. I've done what I can to protect her but this is still a hard time for her and she could use a friend._

_There's one last thing and this is the most important. Look after my kids, will you? I trust Evelyn with everything I am but I'd like my kids to have a grown-up friend who isn't a parent looking out for them and that's where you come in. You still owe me $80 from the last poker game so if you'll do me this favor, use the money to take my kids out for dinner or something, let them get to know you better so they know that if they ever need someone, you'll be there. _

_Take care of yourself, Rick. _

_Roy_

Whatever Castle had been expecting Montgomery's letter to him to be about, he hadn't been expecting this. Any of it. The surprises, the emotional wallops, just never ceased, first with the instruction to tell Beckett about Rathborne when Castle had never wanted Beckett to know about that, and then giving him this second chance, and finally—the last gut punch—the request to look out for Roy's kids.

Castle shut his eyes and made a silent promise to Roy that he would. He would do all that Roy asked. And Castle kept his promises.

He decided quickly—the easiest thing—that when he took Roy's kids out to eat, he would also include Alexis. Alexis wasn't that much older than Roy's daughters so she could be a real friend of their own age and he knew he could trust his daughter's heart and her judgment. And if he knew anything at all about young girls, they would be more at ease confiding in someone like Alexis, much closer to them in age to say nothing of gender, than they would in him. He could hover in the background as it were and rely on Alexis to help him keep his promise.

The rest of it—well, he would try. (He supposed he shouldn't be surprised that Montgomery had, apparently, known very well how he felt about Beckett; Montgomery was a damn good detective too and Castle knew that when it came to Beckett, he tended to wear his heart on his sleeve.)

Castle carefully folded the letter up and inserted it back into its envelope, slipping it into his jacket pocket afterwards. He looked up and caught Beckett's eyes before she could glance away, watching him with an expression he couldn't read.

He could almost see her biting back the urge to ask him what Montgomery had written but she didn't ask, only pushed herself to her feet.

"You ready to go?" she asked with an attempt at her usual briskness.

"Yeah, right beside you, Beckett," he answered, imitating her manner. Obviously, they could not have the conversation they needed to have here, in Montgomery's house with Evelyn at home.

He and Beckett took their leave from Evelyn with more quick hugs and a quiet assurance from Beckett telling Evelyn that she'd be in touch about funeral arrangements. He made a point of giving Evelyn his phone number and telling her to let him know if she or the kids ever needed anything.

When they regained the privacy of Beckett's car, Beckett surprised him a little by pausing, her hand on her keys but not turning on the ignition, and then letting her hand fall. She didn't turn to look at him, kept her eyes facing forward, as she said, "Montgomery told me you had something to tell me, about my mom's case."

He stiffened, his knee jerking a little in surprise. They were going to get into this now? He wasn't sure what to say and before he decided, she turned to pin him with a look. "What don't I know about my mom's case?"

Right, so apparently they were going to get into this now. He steeled himself. "It's, um, sort of about your mom's case, but it ended up not really," he began, not smoothly, before replaying his words over in his mind and inwardly grimacing. _Good job of sounding coherent, Rick._

She shot him a look.

"Rathborne," he blurted out.

She blinked, a faint frown creasing her forehead. "What?" She stopped, her expression changing. "Wait, I remember that name. That was the name Dick Coonan told me more than a year ago." She broke off again. "You know about Dick Coonan?"

He suppressed a wince. "The Captain told me."

"He told you," she repeated and he really wished he could read her expression or her tone better. He couldn't tell how she felt that Montgomery had been talking to him about her mom's case.

"He sort of felt he had to," Castle quickly inserted, on Montgomery's behalf. "I can explain. It's, um, about Rathborne, as I said. The Captain told me just now I should tell you about that. Remember what Dick Coonan told you, asked for—"

She interrupted him. "$100,000," she breathed. "The money was from you." It wasn't a question. She'd figured it out.

He met her eyes, releasing his breath. "Yeah," he admitted.

She shut her eyes for a moment before opening them again. "Montgomery told me he would take care of it. He said… he'd pulled a few strings, talked to some people he knew, to arrange for it. I asked but he said… told me to trust him and he knew what he was doing."

Castle suppressed a sigh and controlled his expression with an effort. "He wasn't lying really. He did pull some strings; he called me. He told me a little of what was going on, what Dr. Murray had found and what Coonan told you about Rathborne, his demand."

It had shocked him, Montgomery calling him out of the blue and telling him flatly, without any preliminaries, "We have a lead on Johanna Beckett's killer." After that, of course, Castle had demanded the entire story and Montgomery had told him about the Jack Coonan case, the wound similarity that Lanie had noticed and Clark Murray had confirmed, and then the path that had led them to Dick Coonan and his demand. And even before Montgomery had needed to ask, Castle had immediately volunteered the money. Castle was man-of-the-world enough to know that there was no way the City or the DA would agree to such a deal; the City didn't have the kind of resources to pay that kind of money upfront nor could the DA make such a deal offering immunity in exchange for money. No, that was the sort of thing that had to be taken care of privately, under the table.

Montgomery had made a perfunctory protest, more for form's sake than because he'd really wanted or meant to try to persuade Castle out of his offer, and Castle could guess that Montgomery had always intended just that. There was no other reason for Montgomery to call him at that moment. It might have been a little manipulative but Castle wasn't going to quibble over the results. And $100,000 was a small price to pay for a chance to get Johanna Beckett's killer. He would have cleaned out his bank accounts to get justice for Beckett's mother.

An expression he couldn't quite decipher flitted across her face. "He should have told me."

"I asked him not to," he inserted quickly—and truthfully. He hadn't ever meant for Beckett to find out. It was the least he could do and he didn't want her gratitude.

"And he agreed? You didn't think I had a right to know something about my mom's case?"

"It wasn't about that! I didn't want you to feel beholden to me and it ended up not really mattering anyway because there was no Rathborne."

"But you still gave the $100,000 just for a chance at my mom's killer," she persisted. "And I will pay you back, somehow."

"No!" he exclaimed immediately. She frowned and opened her mouth to protest and he forcibly softened his tone, made it more persuasive rather than peremptory. "You don't owe me anything, Beckett. Consider it your share of the royalties from _Heat Wave_, which would never have existed without you."

"You wrote the book," she demurred, not looking persuaded.

"I could never have written it without you so you should get a share of the royalties, and anyway, this would still be less than Gina's cut as my editor, so it's really no more than your due."

She still did not look persuaded so he switched tacks. "And if you won't accept that, then consider it my way of making it up to you for what I did, digging into your mom's case. If I hadn't asked Clark Murray to look into your mom's case, he wouldn't have picked up on the injury pattern and neither would Lanie. I was the reason Coonan was able to make the demand in the first place and after what I did, it was the least I could do."

"If it hadn't been for you, I would have never found my mom's killer at all."

Maybe but he absolutely didn't want her dwelling on that. He never wanted her to think she owed him anything. She didn't. He didn't think what he'd done, giving the money to try to get Johanna Beckett's killer, was anything praiseworthy. He was only making what reparations he could for the mistake he'd made. And to be candid, it meant less because the money was barely a blip on his account; this wasn't some gesture of superhuman generosity giving up a sizable percentage of what he owned or anything. It was about the same as anyone else donating $100 to charity, not nothing, but not some heroic deed either.

Besides, entirely aside from his feelings for her, she had made him a better man. More thoughtful, less impulsive—the way he had screwed up and been kicked out of her life for it had made him grow up. An adult life as a rich celebrity had largely shielded him from any negative consequences for his actions. Everyone liked him, or at least pretended to like him to his face, no matter how he acted or what he did. Until he'd met Beckett. Beckett, who was the first woman he'd met in years who hadn't treated him any differently because of his wealth or his fame. It occurred to him, very belatedly, that it might be the reason he loved her, one of the reasons, at least.

"That doesn't justify my prying into your mom's case. The end doesn't justify the means. I was still wrong and I still wanted to make amends."

"You wanted to make amends," she repeated. "So you gave up $100,000 just because Montgomery asked you to. We hadn't even seen each other for months at the time. How—why—?"

It was his turn to look away, focusing his gaze out the front window. "Because it was you," he blurted out the stark truth and only belatedly realized just how revealing that answer was. "To make up for my mistake, for violating your trust," he hurriedly tacked on. Too little, too late, he knew, but it was all he could do to save face now, pitiful fig leaf that it was over the nakedness of his emotions. He might as well have just blurted out, Because I was in love with you, and inwardly grimaced. Ugh. At least, he'd used the past tense. "I owed it to you," he forced himself to continue, not sure if he was improving matters or not.

There was a brief silence after that. He still didn't—couldn't—look at her, was afraid of what he might see in her expression—or what she might see in his.

"Thank you," she finally broke the silence.

He could have promised her that he would always be there for her, that he would do anything for her, wanted to promise her that but he bit the words back. He'd already revealed too much. "You're welcome," he settled for saying.

There was another pause and it occurred to him that if Evelyn looked out her front window, she would probably wonder what was going on, since he and Beckett were still just sitting in her car, unmoving. He was starting to wonder why Beckett wasn't starting her car. What more was there to say? He had told her about Rathborne and the money, as Montgomery had told him to. The other things Roy had mentioned—well, they had to do with the reason he'd died, the reason for his sacrifice. "Beckett?"

"Yeah?"

"Roy—the Captain—told me you'd tell me what he'd done. What—"

"Not now," she cut him off before he could finish his question. Now, she turned to look at him. "I know what he meant and it's about why he… died and I just… it's a long story and I don't want to get into it now. Not here," she added.

"I understand," he said quickly. Of course, he'd momentarily forgotten. No, they couldn't get into all that sitting in her car right outside Montgomery's own house. "Why don't you come over for dinner?" he asked impulsively.

"What?"

"Come have dinner at the loft," he repeated. "Alexis and my mother will be glad to see you again and after dinner, Alexis has a physics test tomorrow so she'll need to study and my mother will probably go out so we'll have the place to ourselves, mostly, and we can talk. You won't want to tell me about Montgomery in a public place," he reasoned, "and my place will be private."

"Okay," she agreed.

"And you—" He broke off, belatedly realizing what she'd said. "You will?" He felt an irrational surge of happiness, the beginnings of a smile curving his lips before he could help it. "That's great."

She offered him a small, real (lovely) smile. "It will be nice to see Alexis and Martha again."

"They'll be thrilled to see you," he promised. "My mother still asks after you on a regular basis."

Her smile softened. "Well, I would hate to deny Martha the chance to find out how I'm doing in person."

He grimaced a little. "I apologize in advance for my mother's inevitable prying."

"That's okay, Castle, I think I can handle one actress's questions."

She gave him another small smile at that, a touch of humor entering her tone, and his unruly heart leaped, filling with treacherous hope. She was smiling and managing to sound almost teasing, approaching the way they had used to banter back and forth. And he couldn't help but think that maybe, having her come over for dinner, spending time together in the privacy of his home with his family around, would allow them to find a level of comfort with each other again. Would allow them to really feel like friends again.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Because we all know Captain Montgomery was a Caskett shipper too… Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: A chapter in which not much happens but Kate does some thinking.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 4_

Kate expected that dinner with Castle's family at his loft would be pleasant. She remembered Martha and Alexis fondly, Martha with her warmth and vitality and Alexis with her good sense and sweetness. (How fondly she had remembered Castle himself she was trying not to dwell on right now.)

And of course, it was pleasant. The loft was as homey and welcoming as she remembered it, in spite of the wealth that it attested to. But it was also difficult. She felt ridiculous tears pricking at the back of her eyes, had to swallow the lump of emotion that formed in her throat, when she was immediately drawn into Martha's scented embrace and given a warm kiss on the cheek. Clearly, she was overwrought, her emotions running too close to the surface. So stupid to feel teary over a simple hug except that it wasn't so simple because it was a mother's hug; Martha was a mother of her own mother's generation, not far in age from what her mom would have been if she'd lived. And the thought of her mom was ever-present in her mind the last couple days.

"Katherine, how lovely to see you again, darling! And don't you look gorgeous. I just love your hair, the curls."

Kate managed a smile. "It's nice to see you too, Martha. You look lovely." Martha didn't appear to have aged a day and was dressed as colorfully as Kate remembered had been her habit in a dress of bright emerald green splashed with pink.

Martha patted Kate's cheek in an affectionate gesture that inescapably reminded Kate of her own mom. "Aren't you sweet?" Her gaze swivelled between Castle and Kate. "Richard, you never mentioned you were planning to see Katherine today or was it just serendipity that he ran into you?"

"It wasn't planned, mother," Castle responded. "I saw on the news that Captain Montgomery died and went to the precinct to offer my condolences."

Kate was thankful for Castle's intercession as it spared her the need to repeat the news about Captain Montgomery.

Martha's demeanor instantly changed, sobered. "Captain Montgomery? Oh, Katherine, I hadn't heard. I am so sorry." Martha drew Kate into another hug. "You must be devastated."

Kate shut her eyes briefly against the threatening tears at this statement and opened them to catch Castle's concerned gaze, abruptly withdrawn.

"Mother, where's Alexis?" he quickly asked and she had the distinct impression he was trying to distract his mother to give Kate a moment to regain her composure. Had Castle always been so sensitive to her mood or was this new? She couldn't quite remember. And she wouldn't have expected to like it; she hated people hovering or fussing over her and even expressions of concern tended to chafe against her sensibilities because she didn't like having people think she needed any help. But oddly, Castle's stepping in didn't bother her, maybe because he wasn't directly expressing concern at all, wasn't making her look helpless. Certainly no one else would have noticed it.

"Alexis is in her room, getting started on her homework. Where else would she be?"

Castle thanked Martha by brushing a quick kiss on her cheek and Kate momentarily averted her eyes, trying to tamp down the flare of emotion. She had forgotten—or tried not to remember—this aspect of Castle's character, how effortlessly affectionate he was with his family. The way he treated his family had always been the side of him she liked the best—and in her current emotional state, she was dangerously susceptible to Castle when in his family mode.

He strode over to the foot of the stairs. "Alexis," he called. "Can you come down here please?"

Alexis appeared in a few seconds and hadn't even reached the bottom step before Castle swept her into his arms, lifting her clean off the ground for a moment, making her squeal in surprise.

"Dad!"

He set her down, pressing a kiss to her hair before he released her.

"What's going―oh, Detective Beckett!" Alexis's smile faded as she noticed Kate. "What are you doing here?" Her tone was curious, not hostile, but it was also not precisely welcoming either.

Kate forced a small smile, feeling awkward. "Hi, Alexis."

"Alexis," Castle inserted, almost overlapping with Kate's greeting. His tone was edged with mild chiding, although it was softened by the fact that he tugged Alexis closer with an arm around her shoulders. "Captain Montgomery died yesterday," he told her quietly.

"Oh!" Alexis's eyes went wide and now she wriggled free of her father's arm and hurried forward to offer Kate a quick hug of her own. "I'm so sorry, Detective Beckett. I didn't know."

Kate returned Alexis's hug, a little eased with this return to the friendly teenager she remembered. "Thanks, Alexis. It's good to see you," she murmured.

Alexis drew back and gave Kate a small, rueful smile. "It's been awhile. I wasn't expecting to see you." It wasn't quite an apology, more a vague acknowledgment of regret, but it was enough. Yes, this was more like the polite teen Kate remembered.

"It has been. You're looking well. Your dad tells me you're planning to go to Stanford?"

It was the right question to ask as Alexis's eyes and smile brightened. (Kate had forgotten how brilliantly blue Alexis's eyes were, the Castle eyes.) "I am. My boyfriend, Ashley, is starting at Stanford this fall and I want to be with him."

Castle made a huffing sound that resembled a disgruntled bear and Alexis threw her dad a quick look, making him subside with a pout.

Kate suppressed a smile, feeling a little ember of warmth kindle inside her chest at this byplay. It was so… nice, for lack of a better word, to witness the interaction, not just because of the familial ease of it but because it was so completely removed from death and murder and all the darkness her own life had been consumed with for so long now. She'd almost forgotten that there were aspects of life that weren't always tainted by death, that there were people with other more quotidian concerns and troubles far removed from questions of life or death.

"Dad, shouldn't you be making dinner?" Alexis asked pointedly.

"Yes, ma'am," Castle responded, throwing his daughter a teasing salute. "Mother, will you help by making a salad?"

"Of course, darling. Katherine, can I get you something to drink?"

Kate gave Martha a quick smile. "Just water, thank you."

"I'll get it," Alexis volunteered.

The little family scattered to the kitchen, Castle and Martha busying themselves behind the island, while Alexis returned to Kate's side promptly with a glass of water and gestured for her to sit down on the couch, where she joined Kate. "I think my dad mentioned once that you went to Stanford too, right, Detective Beckett?"

Kate threw Castle a quick glance, intercepting his. She hadn't realized he knew that. But then, she supposed she shouldn't be so surprised. Even in the few months he'd been shadowing her, he'd proven that Curious George had absolutely nothing on Castle. "I did, for the first two years. He told you that?"

"Would you mind? Could you tell me more about Stanford?" Alexis asked, a touch of diffidence in her tone.

"Of course," Kate agreed willingly. "Is there anything specific you want to know or do you just want to hear about my time there in general?"

"Was it hard going so far away from home? Did you manage to make friends easily?" the girl began and Kate answered, a little haltingly at first as she called up these memories she hadn't thought about in a long time but with increasing ease. And found herself relaxing more than she had in what felt like weeks, her mood lightening in a way that felt almost strange. It was… like the first breath of air after she'd been drowning, this first real conversation she'd had in days that didn't relate to death or murder.

This was what she had missed. This was, somehow, what Castle had added to her work, her life, even in those few short months he'd been shadowing her. He might have been working beside her but he had also been something new, someone who had a life entirely removed from the precinct and homicide, and he had brought some of that lightness, that reminder of joy, with him. She had acknowledged it before, not entirely willingly, that in spite of everything, Castle had made her work more fun and she had missed that. So it seemed only fitting somehow that this first conversation in at least a week that didn't revolve around murder would be with a member of Castle's family.

She was reminded of what Captain Montgomery had said to her just days ago. _We speak for the dead. We are all they've got when the wicked rob them of their voices. We owe them that. But we don't owe them our lives. _

And what he had written in his letter to her. _Kate, I've known you longer than anyone else at the Twelfth and watched you become the cop I always knew you could be. But remember what I told you, we don't owe the dead our lives. Take it from someone who knows: at the end of the day, our lives should be about more than a quest for justice. Remember that, and take care of yourself, Kate. _

And now, in the warmth and comfort of Castle's home, feeling the level of… relief… she felt, as if a weight had been lifted, just from being able to have a conversation that was about life, in all its attendant joys and worries, rather than about death, Kate felt as if she was starting to understand what Captain Montgomery had meant.

She had told herself for years that she liked her life just fine the way it was, neat and organized and predictable in its own way with her entire focus on her work. She had told herself she neither needed nor wanted anything more in her life. Maybe she didn't need more in her life but she was starting to see that it might not be good for her not to have more.

Except… it wasn't quite so simple either. If seeing Evelyn Montgomery today—or worse, having to break the news to her last night—had proven anything, it was that with love came the possibility of devastating loss. She'd been through it once when her mom had died and her entire soul seemed to shrivel up at the mere idea of going through that again.

People didn't stay, they _left_, not always voluntarily but they did leave. Her mom had left her—not that she blamed her mother but it didn't change the result—her dad had essentially left her alone for years when he'd been drowning in the bottle. Royce had left her and then betrayed her and now Royce was dead too; Will had left for Boston; Montgomery was gone now. And even Castle had walked away from her.

Except Castle had come back. At least for now, he was back.

Kate was aware that Castle was listening to their conversation but not participating as he was busy in the kitchen. She found herself distracted by the sight of him out of the corner of her eye. She knew he could cook after the one morning she had shown up to return Martha's jewelry after the MADT fundraiser but after so long, it was an oddly arresting—and attractive—sight. She was used to thinking of him as being somewhat clumsy, certainly silly, but in his own home, in his kitchen, he wasn't. He was responsible—doing the cooking indicated that—and while cooking, he was competent, his movements practiced, confident. The very way he behaved in the kitchen indicated his comfort level because his wasn't the careful fumbling of a novice but the ease of an experienced cook. (He was more at ease in the kitchen than she was. She could cook but since she usually didn't have time, she didn't cook often enough to make her very comfortable at it.)

And cooking was a good look on him. He had rolled his sleeves up, showing the play of muscles of his arms as he worked, and she wasn't sure if it was an effect of the apron—a _Star Wars_ apron, unsurprisingly—that made his shoulders and chest look so broad and, well, strapping.

Before too long, Castle was announcing that dinner was ready and they convened at the dining table to a meal of spaghetti and garlic bread, accompanied by salad. It was the first real family meal she had sat down to with the Castles—or with anyone really, since her dinners with her dad hardly counted since it was only the two of them—in so many years, and for a moment, Kate was, again, overwhelmed with the onslaught of memories of growing up, of dinners with her parents that had also been characterized by this level of ease and noise, with love underlying it all.

Castle asked Alexis about her day in school in a somewhat subdued manner that surprised her until she caught his quick glance at her and it occurred to her that he might have sensed or realized her emotions somehow (was he really able to read her so well?). Alexis answered freely, talking about some things that had happened with her friends, fretting a little over her physics test the next day. Castle reassured her with an odd combination of facetiousness and sincerity since he started by telling her that she could always just pick the answers using the age-old method of 'eenie meanie miney mo' the way he used to do and when Alexis threw him a mock scowl at that, switched to seriousness telling her that, of course, she would do well because she'd studied the material and done all her assignments and he had faith in her. This cleared Alexis's expression and Kate could only note Castle's behavior as a dad, somehow surprising and yet exactly what she might have expected, the combination of joking and seriousness he seemed able to mix so easily.

When Alexis's talk had wound down, Martha asked Kate how she was doing and Kate mustered up a pale smile and assured Martha she was surviving and then quickly changed the subject. "Martha, Castle mentioned that you've started an acting school. That's really neat. Tell me about it."

She was sincerely interested but it also helped to get the attention off her own self and fortunately, it worked as Martha immediately started recounting the story of how she had reconnected with an old high school flame (her word) and when he had passed away last fall, he had left her a bequest of money, which she had decided to use by opening an acting school. Encouraged by additional questions, Martha was happy to expound on her experiences in looking for and finding a space for her acting studio and how she had found her first students and their progress.

It was, again, such a normal, happy conversation, a reminder of how life went on even after death.

Martha was as dramatic and engaging as Kate remembered, narrating her stories with verve, and she kept them entertained through most of dinner until Martha eventually wound down and Kate switched her attention to Alexis, "Alexis, tell me more about your boyfriend. His name is Ashley?"

Alexis colored up to her hair but was clearly happy to talk about Ashley, how smart and cute he was, how he'd always wanted to go to Stanford, and the plans they were making for when she joined him out in California.

Castle was less than pleased with this line of conversation, although he limited his displeasure to a look of mock irritation directed at Kate for asking and one disgruntled mutter under his breath.

Perhaps due to Castle's lack of encouragement, Alexis's paean to Ashley didn't last long and then it was Martha's turn to ask, "And what about you, Katherine? Are you seeing anyone?"

"Mother!" Castle interjected on a groan.

Martha gave him a look of limpid innocence. "Don't be like that, Richard. I'm only making conversation and Katherine doesn't mind, do you, Katherine?"

Kate managed a smile, even as she felt herself flush. "I don't mind and no, I'm not seeing anyone. Work has kept me pretty busy," she explained briefly and carefully did not allow herself to look in Castle's direction, even though she felt his glance. She was absurdly self-conscious, had the crazy sense that if she so much as looked at Castle, he might somehow read the truth of why her last relationship had ended in her eyes. Which was ridiculous, of course, but her own awareness of it made her uncomfortable. He couldn't know that he had been the reason she'd broken up with her last boyfriend.

Castle jumped in, deliberately asking Martha a question about some mutual acquaintance of theirs, distracting Martha as she started relating some recent gossip she'd heard, and Kate allowed herself to tune out the conversation as she tried to scold herself into rationality.

It was stupid, as she'd told herself countless times in the last eight months. It shouldn't even be possible to think of Castle as the one that got away when they had never even been together and for that matter, she had no reason to think he had ever even considered an actual relationship with her. His flirtations might have been just that, wanting a fling, but she couldn't believe that Richard Castle would have been interested in her, a plain cop, for anything more than that.

Which made it so much worse, really, that she had essentially broken up with Tom Demming because of him. When she hadn't even seen Castle in a year and didn't expect to see him again. Except it wasn't Castle himself per se, but what he had made her realize.

It had been such a little, meaningless thing too, barely a moment, to make her start questioning a relationship when nothing had been wrong with it. She had honestly liked Tom, enjoyed his company, and they had been together for almost four months after meeting over a case involving Espo's former partner, and then working on a couple cases together. And it had been… nice. Really. He was nice, attractive, a good cop, a thoroughly decent guy. There was nothing to complain about.

They had been out to dinner and Kate could still picture clearly the adorable little girl, maybe four or five years old, who had been in the booth next to them and had peeped shyly over at them while they were eating. Tom had given the little girl a quick smile and then returned his smile and his attention to Kate, resuming their conversation like the attentive date he was. And Kate had found herself thinking, ridiculously, that Castle would have gotten distracted by the little girl, would have pulled funny faces to make the little girl giggle or engaged in a game of peekaboo with her. She knew that. It was exactly the sort of thing Castle would do. The man who had called his teenage daughter to promise her strawberry happy-face pancakes—and then pretended it was because his "spidey senses" told him that his daughter missed him—would definitely have been charmed into playing with an adorable little girl in a restaurant.

She wasn't sure why the brief interplay stayed in her mind the way it did but somehow, it had, had persisted like an itch she couldn't reach, distracting her for the rest of their date until she'd finally, apologetically, cut their evening short pleading tiredness and a headache. (Although by then, the headache was real enough since her thoughts and her internal conflict with herself just over thinking about Castle had brought on a headache.)

Tom wasn't like Castle; Tom wasn't silly or childlike or overly excitable or any of those things. She should have liked him the better for it; she had liked him for it. But it was as if that one moment in the restaurant had chiseled a crack in a dam and started a slow trickle of doubt that grew.

No, Tom wasn't silly; his sense of humor was mild, quiet. Which wasn't a bad thing except Kate found herself remembering what Castle had said about Will Sorenson. _Yin yang is harmony; yin yin is the name of a panda. _

Tom was very like Will in a lot of ways, not just the superficial physical characteristics of being tall and good-looking, but in their law enforcement backgrounds, their straightforward matter-of-fact natures and way of viewing the world. They were both serious, competent, responsible. They were very like her. But did she really want to be with someone who was so similar to her?

Damn Castle anyway for worming into her thoughts like this and making her think… things. But as much as Kate hadn't wanted to admit it, had resisted it for days afterwards, the thought kept returning to her. Maybe she really didn't need—or want—someone to be serious with. She was quite serious enough as it was. Maybe what she wanted was someone who would balance out her seriousness. Someone like—well, just someone who wasn't so serious. She wasn't thinking about anyone in particular. Not at all. Absolutely not.

She had broken up with Tom and she still winced a little when she remembered the hurt and the bewilderment clouding his eyes, the confusion as he asked if he had said or done something wrong. She had assured him honestly that he hadn't done anything wrong and he was a great guy, just not for her.

And that had been it. She hadn't dated anyone since and admittedly, had been too focused on work to really want to date, even if she'd met anyone she liked, which she hadn't. And no matter how she'd tried to convince herself that she hadn't broken up with Tom because of Castle—as ridiculous as that was—at the same time, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about Castle either. (It had gotten really irritating, to the point that she'd decided he might actually be more irritating and persistent in absentia than his presence had been. She didn't want him to be in her head, didn't want to hear his voice in her mind providing commentary like a constant peanut gallery accompaniment. She might have gotten accustomed to it but she still didn't exactly welcome it.)

Not that she'd had much of an active love life before Castle either, as Lanie continually reminded her. It was just so stupid because she and Castle weren't—had never been—anything, not like that.

And it wasn't as if he was pining for female company either. She knew he'd been out on dates, had seen some mentions of him in Page Six last year after _Heat Wave_ had been released, with a different beautiful woman on his arm each time. She hadn't seen anything lately, since a mention of him with his publisher/ex-wife months ago, but really, for all she knew, he was dating someone now.

And if she hadn't been able to get him out of her mind before, his latest book that had been released last fall had not helped matters. She had read it, of course, just as she had read all his other books. It was a stand-alone novel that returned to his roots in one sense because it involved non-law enforcement protagonists who assisted police like his earliest books had. This book revolved around a double murder that roiled a college campus and the protagonists had been college professors who were invested in the case because the first victim was a student of theirs, that one of them had been advising.

The mystery itself had also been something of a departure from Castle's usual standards in that it hadn't involved spies or the CIA or mysterious super-villains with James Bond-like technology but had been more intricate, grounded in realism. But what Kate had found most interesting, along with some of the critics, had been a subplot involving the protagonists and the budding relationship between them because the relationship had stalled because of the male protagonist, Gabriel Vargas's tendency to secrecy, including a space of hours each week in which he was never available and refused to speak about where he went. The female protagonist, Deanna Mist, had taken it upon herself to investigate not only the murders but also what Gabriel's secret was, even going so far as to sneak into his office and go through his desk drawers, ostensibly to find out more about the victim's academic life but also to look into Gabe himself. She had discovered that the "guilty secret" Gabe had been protecting was nothing of the sort, but the tragic fact that he had a mother who was suffering from Alzheimer's that had progressed to the point that she had been institutionalized and he visited her at least once a week. Deanna's violation of his privacy had led to an argument and the temporary end of the relationship. To Kate, at least, the real emotional climax of the story had involved not the actual solution to the mystery but Gabe's and Deanna's reconciliation, both the apology and expression of regret for prying, and also the way they had moved past it until the secret had become a shared burden rather than one borne alone.

Kate had tried to tell herself she was being fanciful or egotistical to think that the book had been meant for her but she hadn't been able to convince herself of that. The parallels to what had happened between her and Castle were too clear, at least to her. No, she had to believe that his book had been intended, in part, as an apology to her.

She had already forgiven him before then, time having softened her anger and hurt at his looking into her mom's case—and then after the Dick Coonan incident, she had realized that if it hadn't been for Castle's prying, she would never have found out about Dick Coonan.

She still didn't know who was really behind her mother's murder—the mysterious Dragon Captain Montgomery had warned her away from—but she knew more now, was closer now to getting justice for her mother. She suppressed a sigh, her mood taking an abrupt downturn at the reminder. She knew her mom's case made her impatient and this was just… difficult, the stops and starts. She knew so much more now about her mom's case but not enough, never enough, only so far and no further. And now, Captain Montgomery was dead, taking his knowledge of the man behind her mother's murder with him, cutting off her last lead.

"Beckett."

Kate blinked and startled a little, realizing belatedly that she had fallen into a reverie. "Huh, what?"

Castle was regarding her with a look of veiled concern but all he said was, "Do you want coffee?"

She opened her mouth to agree automatically but then considered. She hadn't slept much, if at all, the last couple nights so caffeine might not be the best thing right now. "Actually, do you have tea?"

He blinked. "Tea? Of course, what kind? We have lots—Earl Grey, english breakfast, chai, chamomile, peppermint, green tea, this other special tea my mother swears by but that I think tastes like sewer water?"

Beside her, Martha huffed. "Don't listen to him, Katherine. The tea tastes perfectly fine."

Castle ignored her. And how very like Castle, that even the offer of tea turned into a ramble. "Peppermint sounds good. Thanks."

"Peppermint tea, coming right up."

Kate pushed herself to her feet in Castle's wake. "I can help clean up since you did the cooking," she offered quickly.

Castle waved her away. "You don't have to, Beckett, you're a guest. Sit down."

She didn't. "I can help," she repeated, holding his gaze.

He acquiesced. He made a small face as he did so but he acquiesced.

"Well then, my dears, I must be off!" Martha announced.

"Off to carouse again, Mother?" Castle inquired.

Kate had to smile. Clearly, Castle's habit of barbed banter with his mother had not changed.

"Don't talk nonsense, Richard. I'm not the one who's known for carousing as I'm sure we all know. A student of mine is in a new play and the dress rehearsal is tonight and I promised to sit in, give him some tips afterwards."

"Poor man," Castle murmured, not quite under his breath.

Alexis elbowed him. "Be nice, Dad. Have fun, Grams."

Martha beamed at Alexis. "Thank you, darling." She turned to Kate, pulling her into another hug and brushing a kiss to Kate's cheek. "It was wonderful to see you, Katherine. I do hope we'll see you again soon." She paused and met Kate's eyes, sobering. "And I am sorry about Captain Montgomery. He was a good man."

Kate pressed her lips together and nodded, swallowing, before she could manage, "Yes, thank you, Martha. Enjoy the show."

Martha nodded and patted Kate's cheek and then swanned out the door with as much panache as if she were exiting the stage. "Ta ta, my dears."

Castle heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Good, she's gone. Now we can relax."

"Dad!" Alexis swatted at him.

Castle threw her a faux wounded look before he turned to Kate, setting out a mug and a tea bag before pouring hot water into it. "Your tea, Beckett."

"Thanks, Castle."

Alexis finished drying her hands. "It was nice to see you, Detective. I need to go up and study for my physics test."

"Have a good night, Alexis, and good luck on your test tomorrow."

"Thanks, Detective."

There was a quick exchange of glances between the two Castles that Kate couldn't read but it resulted in Castle excusing himself to accompany Alexis upstairs, leaving Kate alone in the kitchen area.

Not that she minded. She washed her hands and after a quick moment's thought, settled herself at the table again. If she and Castle were going to talk about her mom's case, the table would be better, easier somehow to be sitting upright rather than lounging on a couch.

The question was just how much to tell him about her mom's case, about Montgomery's involvement. She had not intended to tell anyone else about what Montgomery had done but even as it occurred to her, she knew she was going to tell Castle everything. She trusted him. Again. Still? And not only did she trust him but clearly, Montgomery had too.

The beginning of his short letter to her had implied as much. _Beckett, by the time you read this, you'll know about my past, all I never told you about your mother's case. There's one more thing about your mother's case that you don't know but this one isn't my secret to tell. Castle will have to tell you and I'm asking you to hear him out. Whatever mistakes he made, I know he cares about you. You may not be ready to see it but he does. _

Captain Montgomery had believed Castle cared about her. She wasn't sure what to make of that. She could accept that he cared about her as a friend, someone he had spent quite a bit of time with over the course of the few months he was shadowing her. But he hadn't tried to contact her in almost two years until he'd seen the news about Montgomery today. And yet… Castle had given $100,000 in order to catch her mother's killer. Kate hadn't had a chance to really process that revelation and it still had her mind boggling. Not just the amount of money but the enormity of the gesture.

She was too tired, too overwrought, neither her thoughts nor her emotions clear right now so she didn't know what she thought or felt about it all. It was just… too much right now.

And anyway, it might not end up mattering because Castle could still return to his luxurious, bestselling-author life after these next few days were over. Loss might bring people together temporarily but it didn't mean that they stayed.

And Castle was still, well, Richard Castle. Rich, handsome, charming, celebrity Richard Castle. The kind of guy who would come in, upset the applecart and charm any woman into being foolish, and then leave, move on with their lives. She could not believe that he would stay, not for long. Rich celebrities didn't, perhaps couldn't, have real relationships with regular cops, not outside of a fairy tale or a Hollywood romance.

And she would be just fine.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: A long chapter, in which there's a lot of rehashing of the Johanna Beckett case through Season 3 but I thought it was necessary and I hope the changes from canon are enough to keep it interesting.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 5_

Castle returned downstairs to see Beckett sitting at the table, gazing into her mug as if she were trying to divine the secrets of the universe in the swirling steam rising from her tea. She really did look exhausted, he noted, now that some of her social mask that had been put in place for his mother's and Alexis's benefit was lowered. Not for the first time, he wished he could wrap his arms around her, tell her she could lean against him, let him hold her up—but he couldn't.

He had assured Alexis that he was fine, would be fine, seeing Beckett again—whatever else, he didn't want Alexis worrying about him—but the way his heart reacted just to the sight of her did not bode well for his ability to keep his promise. He was too vulnerable where Beckett was concerned—but what else could he do? This was his second chance with her and he cared too much not to try.

He joined her at the table after arming himself with a glass of water. "Do you want to talk in my office or just stay out here?" he offered.

"Here is fine, unless you think your office would be better."

He nodded and sat down, secure in the knowledge that Alexis's door was closed and he knew she had headphones on, as she usually did when she was studying. Besides which, Alexis wasn't given to eavesdropping. "Here, then."

There was a brief silence in which Beckett traced random patterns on the table with one finger before she exhaled and looked up at him. "I'm not sure exactly where to start."

"Begin at the beginning," he suggested and then gave an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound flippant. What I meant was, the Dick Coonan incident. That was really what started it after I left, right?" That was what it had sounded like from what Captain Montgomery had told him. His prying had gotten Dr. Clark Murrary involved and it was Dr. Murray working with Lanie who had confirmed the wound similarity that had eventually led to Dick Coonan.

Beckett nodded. "Right. Did Montgomery tell you everything that happened with Coonan?"

He briefly averted his eyes, directing his gaze to the table. "Yes, he called me afterwards, told me what happened."

"I ended up shooting Coonan."

The stark statement made him jerk his eyes up to look at her. He hadn't wanted to say it in so many words. He should have known that Beckett would cut through his evasion. There was something dark, haunted, in her eyes. And of course, he knew that Beckett could never view taking a life lightly. She was a protector. "You only did what you had to do, Beckett," he told her gently. "Montgomery told me." That Coonan had taken Ryan hostage and in order to save Ryan, Beckett had needed to shoot Coonan. Montgomery had also mentioned, briefly, although Castle decided against telling her so, that Beckett had cried afterwards, trying desperately to revive Coonan. Castle could picture the scene, his heart twisting.

He had wanted to call her, wanted to make sure she was okay, but he'd resisted because he hadn't known if she'd forgiven him, if she would even accept his call. He had even gone so far as to go to her apartment, loitering on the sidewalk across the street from her building for a couple minutes, hesitating, debating, before he'd told himself he was acting like a creepy stalker and forced himself to walk away.

"I almost called you," she admitted, her voice low, and he looked up at her.

"You did?"

Her lips twisted a little and she glanced away before meeting his eyes. "Yeah. I thought about calling you, to tell you what happened, that you looking into her case really had led to my mother's killer." She lifted her shoulders a little into a half-shrug. "But I didn't. It had been months and I wasn't sure, thought it would be… awkward."

And she hadn't known if he would want to hear from her, he remembered what she'd said earlier. He felt a sharp pang of regret, of loss. If only she'd called… If only he'd called… God, what a tangle this was. They could have talked, worked things out, so much sooner… Maybe they could have resumed their friendship before now.

He sighed. "I'm sorry," he offered, although he honestly wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. Their lost chances? Her lost lead with Coonan dead? His looking into her mom's case? Her having to kill Coonan, even if he hadn't been there for it?

"For what?"

It was his turn to shrug. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I just… wish I'd been there. Maybe I could have helped."

"It's water under the bridge now."

"I know. Don't mind me. I'm just being silly." Regretting the past. Fruitless exercise that it was.

She gave him a pale ghost of a smile at that. "As usual, then?"

He returned it with a faint smile of his own. "You know me."

Her expression sobered and she paused to drink her tea. Afterwards, she hesitated, seemed to be planning her words, and he waited.

"Nothing more happened for a while after that. I started looking into it on my own, looked up the information on the other victims, the ones who'd been killed around the same time with the same wounds, but I hadn't really gotten anywhere. And then in January, I got a call out of the blue from Detective Raglan."

Castle stiffened. "Raglan—the lead detective on your mom's case?" He remembered the name, both because Beckett had mentioned it and because it had been in Johanna Beckett's case file.

"Yeah. He told me he had something to tell me about my mom's case and wanted to meet but I couldn't bring any other cops."

"And you went, alone?" he blurted out. "Isn't that against protocol?" He'd learned enough of NYPD procedure to know that. Besides, he'd written this sort of set-up before.

She gave him a look. "Did you really think that would stop me when it came to my mom's case?"

Well, no. If there was one thing he knew about Beckett, it was that while she might stick to the rules in anything else, when it came to her mom's case, she was single-mindedly driven, would do whatever she felt was necessary regardless of the rules.

And she had been looking into her mom's case. She hadn't made a big deal out of it but he felt a little chill touch his insides in belated worry. Because from what he remembered, Beckett wasn't overburdened with free time as it was, not the way she worked. She ate all her meals at the precinct more than half the time, was among the first to show up in the morning and among the last to leave. And then on top of that, she'd been looking into her mom's case? He didn't like the idea of that.

She went on. "He told me that he wrote her case off as random gang violence because he was told to."

"So you were right," he jumped in, unable to help himself. "He was crooked, didn't really try to solve her case at all."

She made a face of disdain that revealed how she felt about Raglan. "Yeah, he was crooked, and not just because of that. He said that the whole thing started 19 years ago, years before my mom's murder, but then before he could tell me any more than that, he was shot and killed by a sniper."

He jerked in shock. "Right in front of you? Were you okay?"

She waved a hand. "I was fine. Anyway, after that, it turned into an active case so the boys and I brought in Raglan's old partner, Gary McCallister. And McCallister told us that Raglan liked to gamble, got into debt, and that may have led him into drugs, and led us to a drug dealer named Vulcan Simmons, who ran a drug ring out of Washington Heights at the same time as my mom worked with a group trying to clean up the Washington Heights area."

"Vulcan Simmons was behind your mom's death?" he guessed.

She shook her head tiredly, giving him a wry, unamused smile. "It's not that simple. Nothing about my mom's case has turned out to be straightforward."

"You'll solve it," he told her simply and sincerely. She was the best cop he'd ever met and it wasn't just his opinion; Montgomery had said the same thing.

"I… went a little too far in interrogating Vulcan Simmons, let him get under my skin, so Montgomery kicked me off the case."

"But that didn't stop you," he inserted. He knew Beckett too well to think it would.

"No, it didn't," she confirmed. "I went back and started reviewing what I had of my mom's papers and came across a roll of film she'd developed just weeks before she died. It took a while but eventually I noticed that there were 24 exposures but only 20 pictures so I went back to check the negatives and found the other pictures were of the alley where my mom was killed."

She let out a shaky breath and he sat forward, his pulse picking up. This was what he loved, what he missed about going into the precinct, putting together the pieces of a mystery. The intrigue and the challenge of solving a mystery. "Why would your mom have taken pictures of that alley?"

"That's what I wanted to know too. I called up Espo since Montgomery had kicked me out. He and Ryan were still working to try to find the sniper who'd shot Raglan but I asked them to run down to archives to look up that alley, why my mom would be interested in it, going back to 1992."

"19 years ago, just like Raglan mentioned," he noted.

She gave him a quick facsimile of a smile. "Yeah. I told Espo all that and he sent Ryan to look into it and Ryan discovered that an undercover FBI agent named Bob Armen was murdered there. Raglan and McCallister were the arresting officers and the man convicted of the crime was a mob enforcer named Joe Pulgatti."

"Joe Pulgatti," he repeated the name, for no reason except that it would help him keep track of this increasingly complicated story. No wonder Beckett hadn't wanted to get into it earlier at the precinct.

"I went to see him and he… recognized me."

"Because of your mom," Castle finished for her. He'd seen Johanna Beckett's picture too. "Your mom had gone to see him, agreed to help him with his appeal?" he guessed. Johanna Beckett had been a criminal appeals lawyer, a damn good one, from all he'd been able to find out.

She gave him a tight curve of her lips, not quite a smile. "Right. He told me that he was a witness, that three men in ski masks had tried to kidnap him and Armen, there was a struggle, and Bob Armen was killed. But it was a blind alley."

"So the only people who could have known he was there were the kidnappers," Castle reasoned. Holy shit. "Raglan and McCallister," he guessed. "They were two of them. They were part of a kidnapping scheme?"

She nodded, with a look of something like approval that made him want to preen and he might have, if this plot had been anything less personal. "Right. We pulled McCallister back into the box and he told us they had been kidnapping mobsters for ransom money, claiming it was part of their effort to clean up the city."

"So heroic, I'm inspired," he muttered sardonically.

Her lips twisted in wry agreement, before she sobered, her expression darkening. "He referred to the man behind my mother's murder as the Dragon, refused to say anything more. In the meantime, the boys had traced the sniper, a man who called himself Hal Lockwood and who had bought drugs from a woman named Jolene Granger. The boys went to see her but she'd been murdered and then the boys were taken."

"Taken," he repeated, feeling a spike of irrational worry since he knew perfectly well that the boys had obviously survived, were just fine. "What happened? How did you get them out?"

She bit her lip for a moment. "I traced them to an abandoned warehouse, got them out."

"You did? Alone?" His heart clenched with fear for her, even with her sitting right in front of him. God, he should have been there with her. Maybe he couldn't have changed the outcome—and clearly, she was fine—but surely he could have helped, done_ something,_ just been there for her.

"I called for backup but I got there first. The boys' lives were at stake so I couldn't wait."

He nodded, forcing himself to calm down. "There must have been a guard. What did you do, how'd you get to the boys?"

"I took the guard out."

He blinked. "How?"

Beckett looked somewhat less than comfortable. Anyone else might have squirmed or shifted their weight or something. "I distracted him."

"Did you pretend to be a Russian hooker?" he asked, the faintest suggestion of a smile curving his lips. He couldn't help it. It might not be his favorite memory of Beckett but it was certainly way up there in his list of the hottest Beckett moments. Even if the memory was somewhat tainted because it had been the last case he had worked on with her.

She gave him a look. "I'm not a one-trick pony, Castle."

He rearranged his features into solemnity. "Of course not. So what did you do to distract the guard?"

"I pretended to be lost."

Okay, so Beckett might not be much of a talker but even so, her lack of detail on this one incident was intriguing him more. "And that distracted him?" He wasn't sure he followed. How did pretending to be lost get the guard out of the way?

Beckett made a small face. "I forgot, you always want the whole story, don't you?"

"I do love a good story. Plus I'm curious," he shrugged.

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know."

"But satisfaction brought it back," he shot back immediately before he widened his eyes at her in a mock pleading expression. "So indulge me."

She rolled her eyes but there was a faint curve to her lips, hinting at amusement rather than annoyance. "Fine. If you must know, I pretended to be a complete idiot who was lost."

He coughed a little in surprise and burgeoning amusement. "You pretended to be an idiot? And he fell for it?"

Maybe he knew Beckett too well but he couldn't imagine looking at her and not seeing the intelligence and determination in her face, the set of her jaw, her stance. She radiated capability, confidence.

Beckett gave him a look and then in the next moment, assumed an affected pose, tilting her head and widening her eyes, arranging her features into a vacuous simper that did not sit well on her face. At least not to him but he supposed someone who didn't know her might believe it. "I'm lost," she began in a high, breathy voice that resembled her usual tone about as much as a baby hummingbird resembled a fully grown eagle, members of the same general species but on opposite ends of the spectrum. "Oh, Mr. Big Strong Man, can you help me find where I'm going?"

Castle twitched a little in spite of himself at the spot-on imitation of a brainless bimbo. He'd been accosted by plenty of them over the years and his tolerance for that sort of empty-headed female had eroded over the years. But he could definitely understand that some thick-headed muscle man, all brawn and no brain, would have fallen for it easily, especially as that type of man tended to have antediluvian opinions of women and their intelligence.

Oh, she was good. It was the perfect ploy. Beckett, for all her fitness, could not take down some big thug in hand-to-hand combat and shooting him would have been too noisy, lost all the element of surprise. So she'd needed to use guile and guts, both of which she had in spades. He could have applauded and felt an insane urge to cheer that he turned into a cough. "An Oscar-worthy performance. I take it the guard fell for it."

Beckett, now very much Beckett again, gave him one of her characteristic, unamused looks. "Hook, line, and sinker. He leaped at the chance to help a poor helpless female and when he was distracted and had lowered his guard, I knocked him out."

"Oh, I really wish I could have seen that," he blurted out fervently. "That sounds amazing."

She unbent enough to give him a small smirk. "Well, getting to knock him out wasn't the worst part of the day," she admitted. Which was Beckett-speak for she had rather enjoyed it.

He gave her a faint smile of his own. God, he had missed her. Missed the Beckett who was so kickass and yet could still manage to laugh at herself.

"So you went in and saved the boys," he prompted.

"Yeah. Backup arrived just after I'd gotten into the warehouse. Lockwood was put away and since then, I've been going back to the prison every week to see him, try to make him give up anything about the man behind my mother's murder." She grimaced, her expression darkening. "He never did."

He felt a chill snake through him, killing the momentary lift of his spirits. She sounded matter-of-fact about it but he didn't have her sangfroid. She'd been going to the prison every week for months to stare down a cold-blooded killer. God, what had that been like? He'd interviewed serial killers in prison for research and sometimes, just those brief moments had him desperately wanting to take a shower and then immediately cuddle his daughter and possibly surround her with a bodyguard to ensure she was always safe and protected. And for Beckett, seeing Lockwood would be personal in the most visceral way, a constant reminder that she didn't know who was behind her mother's murder.

She finished her tea while he took a drink of water, trying to brace himself since he could guess that they were now getting to the end, to what had happened in the last few days to lead to Montgomery's death.

She let out a long, shaky breath before flattening her hands on the table and looking back up at him. "Early this week, things started to happen again. Lockwood had been in segregation but then he was transferred into the general population and murdered McCallister."

Castle sucked in a sharp breath. McCallister sounded like he'd been anything but a saint but still, it was hard to hear about yet another murder, another body along this long train of events. How many people were dead because of this mysterious Dragon?

"We found the guard who'd been bribed into issuing the transfer order, Ryker was his name. We tracked him down but he was already dead."

Her voice and expression were strictly controlled now and Castle hardly dared to breathe. "There was a hearing to arraign Lockwood for the murder of McCallister but at the hearing, some thugs came in, dressed like cops, but their uniforms were wrong, but before I could do anything, a flash bomb was set off and they escaped in a helicopter that was eventually abandoned in an airplane hangar in Jersey."

He nodded, this part now sounding familiar from the vague news article. "What does all this have to do with Montgomery?"

A slight wince flickered across Beckett's expression before she sat forward, meeting and holding his gaze. "Castle, one more thing, before I tell you what happened. The only people who know the full story of what I'm about to tell you are Esposito and Ryan. No one else knows and we plan to keep it that way."

He nodded slowly. "I understand." Cold was starting to creep into his chest. This was going to be bad. However Montgomery was involved, whatever had happened, it was bad.

Beckett released a breath. "Do you remember what I told you about the kidnapping scheme, the one where Armen got shot?"

"Three masked men. Raglan and McCallister and someone else," he recalled and then recoiled, staring at Beckett. No. Oh no. His mind had leaped again, tried to connect the dots—but no. It wasn't possible. He didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it.

He met Beckett's eyes and read the confirmation in her expression. She knew where his mind had gone. "Beckett?" he asked, hoping, praying, that he was being paranoid, imagining things. For once in his life, he desperately wanted Beckett to tell him he was wrong, that he'd come up with another crazy theory with no basis in reality.

She didn't. Beckett pressed her lips together for a moment and then nodded once. "The third cop, it was Montgomery."

Even though he'd guessed, expected it, hearing the words still rocked him. He felt as if the world had tilted off its axis. Montgomery—Roy Montgomery—had been involved with crooked cops like Raglan and McCallister? Roy Montgomery had been kidnapping mobsters for ransom? Montgomery had been part of a frame-up of Pulgatti for Armen's murder and then years later, when Johanna Beckett had started— He choked on air. "Montgomery killed your—" He broke off, couldn't finish the sentence.

"No," she burst out almost before he'd faltered. "No," she repeated even as her eyes were glassy with tears.

Oh, shit. On a stupid impulse and at the moment, he wasn't sure what he expected or if the comfort was for himself or for her, but he reached out a hand across the table and after a second, she grasped his hand. He gave a little gasp, feeling as if just the touch of her hand had galvanized him, and involuntarily tightened his grip on her hand. "Oh my god, Beckett," was all he said, inanely.

"I know."

There was a longer pause after that. He couldn't help but stare at their joined hands. He was holding hands with Kate Beckett. Under the circumstances, it was the stupidest thing to fixate on but maybe it was understandable too, because it was a much simpler fact to wrap his brain around than any of the complicated, twisting story she'd been telling him. This was something he could process, even as he was reeling over what she'd just told him about Montgomery.

Now he knew what Montgomery had meant when he'd written that Beckett would tell Castle about what he, Montgomery, had done. What Montgomery had done.

Oh god. If anyone else ever found out about it, Montgomery's entire career, his legacy, everything would be tarnished. And what it would do to Evelyn and their kids…

"Tell me the rest," he asked with forced calm, inwardly steeling himself.

"Montgomery said that he was a rookie at the time and Raglan the experienced cop who told him they were doing good, getting bad guys off the streets." Castle made an involuntary face at this but didn't interrupt and she went on, not quite steadily. "Montgomery's gun was the one that went off and killed Bob Armen. The Dragon, the man behind all this, found out about the kidnapping and took the ransom money, used it to become someone powerful, from what Montgomery said."

She stopped for a moment.

Someone powerful which, translated, meant someone who had a lot to lose. "And the hangar?" he finally prompted quietly.

She released a shaky breath. "Montgomery planned it all. He… he called me and told me to meet him at the hangar where Lockwood's escape helicopter had been abandoned earlier. And then he called the boys separately, told them to come to the hangar too. And he contacted Lockwood and his thugs, told them… told them I would be at the hangar."

Oh god. Now Castle saw it, Montgomery's plan, how he had sacrificed himself. And his past was why Montgomery had felt such a drastic step was necessary, as atonement, but also because he would have known Beckett would not take action against him if he were dead, would not let his innocent family suffer in his stead. And so Montgomery had used Beckett as bait to lure Lockwood and his henchmen out to the hangar so he could take them out and save Beckett.

But… wait. The Beckett he knew would never have left Montgomery in there. Not even knowing about Montgomery's involvement in all this, Beckett would have stayed and gone after Lockwood with everything she had. The Beckett he knew could be in a full body cast and even then, she would fight tooth and nail before she let anyone go into danger while she stayed behind.

"What happened?" he asked, as gently as he could.

Beckett blinked, a single tear escaping, before she tilted her head back and shut her eyes. "The boys," she answered succinctly. "They followed, met me and Montgomery at the hangar… And then Montgomery ordered them to get out and take me with them."

Montgomery ordered the boys. Knowing all of them, Castle read between the lines to guess that Montgomery had ordered Beckett to leave too but Beckett had disobeyed. Beckett would obey Montgomery in just about anything else but not for this, not in something related to her mother's case. When it came to her mother's case, Beckett would have disobeyed a direct order from the police commissioner, the president, or God himself.

But if Montgomery gave the boys a direct order, the boys would obey. In spite of their loyalty to Beckett, they were too well-trained and too loyal to Montgomery himself. Even after such a revelation about Montgomery's past, the boys would have obeyed a direct order from him. And yes, they would have understood and acted to save Beckett from herself.

There was just one part of this scenario that didn't quite fit. "The boys made you leave? I could have sworn you could take the boys." If anyone had asked, he would have bet money on it. He'd watched Beckett spar with Esposito and even sparring, when nothing was really at stake, Beckett tended to win about half the time. If her mother's case had been involved…

It hadn't been his intent but he realized that it had been the right thing to say. Miraculously. She straightened to look at him, her eyes still a little shiny, but she looked calmer, more restored to herself. "One at a time, yes, but not both of them at once, not unless I shot one of them."

Okay, she had a point. He knew he tended to view Beckett as a superhero—and goodness knew, she tended to act invulnerable, as if she could leap tall buildings at a single bound—but in reality, she was just one cop. And neither Esposito nor Ryan were weaklings either. Two against one would not be a fair fight. And naturally, Beckett would never seriously injure either of the boys either. They were her team, her brothers.

"Maybe the boys should get a medal. Making you stand down and living to tell the tale?" he ventured.

She managed a weak attempt at a smile. "Don't encourage them."

Oh Beckett… His chest hurt at her courage but he forced a small smile to match hers. "Good point."

Her smile faded. "We agreed that the truth about Montgomery's past would die with him. We… owe it to him, not to let a mistake he made as a rookie define his career."

"No, I understand." What Montgomery had done—yes, it had been a big deal, committing crimes—but the kind of cop Montgomery had been since then, the kind of cops he had trained not just Beckett and the boys to be, but everyone else under his command, leading by example—that meant something too. And whatever else, Evelyn and the Montgomery kids were innocents who had to be protected. "He was still a good cop, a good man."

"He was." Her eyes lowered to their joined hands on the table as if she was belatedly remembering that they were still holding hands. Her hand briefly tightened around his before she released his hand, her own retreating.

There was a brief silence which he eventually broke. "You look exhausted," he blurted out unthinkingly.

She mustered up a wan smile. "Wow, Castle, such flattery."

He grimaced. Not his most tactful moment ever. "Sorry. I just meant, you should get some rest."

"Trying to kick me out?" she asked, with another twitch of her lips.

Yeah, he was failing at tact on so many levels right now. Only Beckett could reduce him to this level of bumbling idiocy. He opened his lips to protest but before he could say anything, she forestalled him.

"I know and you're right. I haven't gotten much sleep so I should be heading home." She pushed herself to her feet and he, perforce, stood with her. "Thanks for dinner."

"Thank you for telling me about Montgomery." He was very aware of the level of trust she had demonstrated by telling him, all the more because it proved once and for all that she really had forgiven him for looking into her mom's case.

Her lips twitched in what he guessed was an attempt at a small smile before she turned to head towards the door and he trailed after her.

At the door, she paused and turned back to him. "Thank you again for, well, everything, Castle."

All he could think to say was, "Let me know if you need anything, for Montgomery's funeral, or… whatever."

She met his eyes and he honestly was never sure afterwards if he initiated what happened next or not but he moved forward and she stepped into him and it could hardly be characterized as a hug, was too brief for that, and he was too slow to react so his hands only briefly came up to touch her arms for a second. It was something more like a full body nudge, if such a thing could be. He was fleetingly aware of the warmth of her body against his, a quick whiff of the scent of cherries from her hair, and he thought her nose brushed his collar before she was stepping back and the moment was over.

She gave him a faint smile but one that reached her eyes. "Night, Castle."

"Good night, Beckett," he echoed lamely.

And then she had slipped out the door and was gone before he could regain his coherence.

But she had forgiven him, trusted him again, at least to a point. It was a start.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Thank you to all readers and reviewers!


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: There's not a lot of Castle and Beckett interaction in this chapter for which I apologize in advance but I thought what does happen in this chapter is necessary.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 6_

Castle returned to the precinct the next morning, armed with a box of donuts for homicide along with a bear claw and a coffee for Beckett.

It felt almost like old times to step out onto the homicide floor. He deposited the box of donuts on Ryan's desk to let it serve as the center of the feeding frenzy before he proceeded to Beckett's desk.

She looked up at his approach and his steps momentarily hitched because today, it was clear and undeniable that she looked happy to see him. She didn't quite smile outright but her expression brightened in some indescribable way, the corners of her lips tipping upward. It was subtle enough that most people would probably not notice but he did and it was enough to make his heart bound.

"Castle, you're back," was all she said and then a flicker of something like self-consciousness, what in anyone else would have been embarrassment, flitted across her expression.

"I am," he greeted her, "and I brought coffee and a bear claw," he said, setting both down on her desk.

Now, she did give him a small smile and he could have basked in it the way a flower basked in the warmth of the sun (_oh, real manly simile, Rick_) as he sat down in his chair once again.

"Thanks." Just the one word but from her, that was enough. She paused as she took a sip of her coffee, her eyelids fluttering for a moment—before her, he'd never known it was possible for a woman to make drinking coffee look so sensual—but then she lowered the cup, the beginnings of a teasing smirk tugging on her lips. "Is there a reason you're here aside from trying to bribe people into liking you?"

He pretended to huff and bridle in mock offense, even as his heart lifted inside him. It might be a little strange but oh, he had missed the way she teased him, her Beckett snark. He didn't think he'd ever known a woman who was so good at keeping him on his toes, putting him in his place. His fame and money meant that most people treated him with a fawning sycophancy, at worst, or an automatic deference, at best. Beckett didn't do that, never had. "I don't need to bribe people into liking me. I'm very likable. Everybody likes me. My mother and daughter like me—"

She rolled her eyes, smirking more definitely. "They're your family and you pay their bills; I don't think they'd be considered unbiased."

He made a face at her. "Alexis has more objectivity in her pinky finger than most people do in their entire bodies."

"Mm, fair point, she does seem to keep you in line but you do still pay her bills."

He shrugged that off. "Still, people like me. My fans like me, the press likes me; the Mayor likes me. Capt—" he broke off, abruptly sobering as he realized what he had been about to say, the words that had been about to escape, entirely thoughtlessly, as he'd forgotten for a moment, in his own happiness to be engaging in this sort of banter with Beckett again, just what had happened to bring him back into the precinct. _Idiot._ He could have kicked himself.

He'd cut himself off but Beckett obviously realized what he'd been about to say, her own expression sobering as her gaze flickered over to the Captain's dark, vacant office. "Yeah, he did like you," she agreed very quietly.

Shit. "Sorry," he said stupidly. "I didn't mean—"

She managed a faint ghost of a smile. "I know, it's okay."

It really wasn't, not after the way Montgomery had sacrificed himself. He shouldn't be bringing Montgomery's name up to buttress his own ego. He inwardly winced and then cleared his throat a little. "I did actually have a reason for coming here," he began soberly now.

A reason beyond wanting to keep seeing Beckett. He had made a point of coming up with an ostensible reason for dropping in, an initial excuse.

She raised her eyebrows at him questioningly.

"First, I wanted to ask if you know when the funeral is going to be. My mother indicated she would be interested in going too," he added, truthfully enough.

"We're waiting to hear back from One PP about that. They're the ones who are in charge of arranging the formal aspects, the band, any mounted officers, plus they coordinate with the schedules of the top brass who'll be attending." Her voice quivered almost imperceptibly and she paused, her lips tightening a little. "We'll probably hear by the end of the day today."

He nodded. "Okay."

"Next question?" she asked with a weak attempt at briskness.

"I was just wondering if you'd heard anything about who the new Captain will be."

Something like pain flickered across her expression before she smoothed her usual Beckett-mask into place. "Usually, out of respect, when a cop is killed in the line of duty, a replacement isn't officially named until after the funeral. One PP will probably appoint a temporary interim captain later today."

"That makes sense."

Beckett tore off a piece of her bear claw and nibbled on it, her gaze turned towards the Captain's dark office. She still looked tired, he noted, and he wondered how much sleep she'd managed to get last night. Not much, he guessed, which he supposed was understandable. He knew talking about what Montgomery had done, both in the past and then his ultimate sacrifice, had been hard for her. She also looked a little thin, now that he was seeing her more clearly without so much of the fog of emotion on seeing her again for the first time in so long. He knew she'd eaten dinner last night but it occurred to him to wonder how much she'd eaten in the days before that. From what he remembered, food, just like sleep, tended to be relegated to the ranks of unnecessary luxuries when Beckett was really into a case.

After a moment, her attention was drawn behind him and he glanced back to see that Esposito and Ryan had apparently finished their donuts and had stood up. There was a brief interplay of glances between the two boys and Beckett, which he could not decipher, before the boys moved into the conference room.

A faint frown creased Beckett's forehead and then she directed her gaze at him, making him straighten up involuntarily. Something about her expression seemed to require it. She appeared to be considering something, something that involved him.

Then, as he watched, she apparently reached a decision. "Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you planning on sticking around for long today?"

She was obliquely asking him to stay today. He tried to tamp down his unreasoning happiness. It wasn't a request to come back and be her partner, but he couldn't help but feel hopeful. "I could," he answered blandly, rather than blurting out that he desperately wanted to come back and work beside her again, that he would stay forever if she let him, that he never wanted to leave her.

Her expression lightened a little. "Then, if you don't mind and since you're here, I was wondering if you could do us a favor."

"Name it." She was _asking_ him for help. He wasn't sure if she'd ever really done so before.

She glanced quickly around and then made a small gesture with her head, directing him to the conference room, before she stood up.

He fell into step beside her.

The boys looked up in some surprise when he and Beckett entered, Beckett shutting the door behind them.

Esposito nodded in greeting. "Castle." The greeting was cool but not outright hostile at least.

Ryan gave him a small smile. "Thanks for the donuts."

"No problem." He took a seat at the table, glancing at Beckett, who did not sit down, only directed a look at Espo and Ryan in turn before she directed her gaze to him.

"Castle, you know about Montgomery now," she began, for the boys' benefit, he guessed.

He nodded carefully. "I do and my lips are sealed," he added, directing the words more to the boys, well, Esposito, than to her. He sensed the boys' glances at him but kept his eyes trained on Beckett.

Beckett waved a hand to indicate the stacks of files on the table. "Before… everything went down, we were going to start combing through all the records involving Raglan and McCallister, everything they ever worked on as cops basically, to try to find a lead on the third cop. But then, well, you know what happened." She paused, her lips tightening, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to become grimmer. He sensed rather than saw one of the boys shifting his weight, wasn't sure which one.

"Now, we're planning on doing the same thing, only it'll be a reverse search, as it were, because we already know what we're looking for and we just want to make sure there are no breadcrumbs in the record that could lead someone to the truth about Montgomery later. The NYPD occasionally has to produce its old records to defend itself or have people audit the records if anything comes up later, questioning the way things were done, that sort of thing." She paused, looking a little uneasy, because this was so far removed from anything she would ever normally do, looking to conceal evidence. "There are a lot of records to go through but we're the only ones who can do it because no one else knows so since you're here, Castle, if you don't mind, could you help out?"

As always, where Beckett was concerned, there was only one answer. "Yes, sure."

"It'll also allow me and the boys to try to move on with the actual cop work we still have to do," she added and then managed a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Roy was my friend too," he demurred. Which was true but he was doing this for Beckett.

Ryan was the one to pass him a stack of files and they settled in to go through them. It really was like looking for a needle in a haystack—and he tangentially wondered if anyone had actually tried to do that, to test the validity of the expression before he cudgeled his brain into focusing again. He cast a quick glance around at the files scattered over the entire conference room table with a few more boxes stacked on the floor. From the looks of it, they had basically pulled every piece of paper that had either Raglan's or McCallister's names on it from both their careers. Which he understood but it just made the magnitude of their task all the more daunting.

Especially as, strangely, they had to be hoping to find nothing, at least nothing to point them back to Montgomery because that was, after all, the whole point of this exercise.

He slid a glance at Beckett, who had seated herself at the head of the table, and was resting her head on her hand as she scanned through the papers in front of her. It was an uncharacteristic pose for her, one that spoke of weariness, not Beckett's usual energy. His lips tightened, abruptly infused with a shot of added determination. He hadn't been there for her as she went through any of this mess with her mom's case so this was his chance to try to make it up to her. He could be here for her now.

He turned back to his stack of files, falling into a rhythm of glancing at each arrest record or case report, becoming very familiar again with the look of the standard forms, the boxes identifying all the officers involved.

He wasn't sure how much time passed but after a little while, Beckett left to answer a phone call, slipping out of the conference room with her phone in hand.

Castle supposed that he should have expected it but he startled when Esposito slapped down a file onto the table.

"So you're back now?" Esposito demanded with more than a bit of truculence.

Castle met Espo's gaze without flinching. He supposed it was time they had it out. "As long as Beckett's okay with it," he answered carefully.

Espo snorted a little. "Yeah, well, Beckett might have forgiven you for prying into her mom's case but I ain't such a softie."

He almost choked. "Beckett? A softie? Are you kidding?"

Espo didn't look amused. "Not like that. I just meant, she's not the type to complain and she doesn't hold grudges but I'm not gonna let it go so easily."

He blinked, feeling the first flicker of irritation and defiance. "Let what go? Look, I apologized to Beckett for what I did, looking into her mom's case. That was on me and I've apologized to her for it but I don't see that what I did has anything to do with you. This isn't about you."

"I'm not saying it's about me; I'm talking about what you did to her," Espo waved a hand to indicate Beckett, sitting at her desk on the phone.

"She can speak for herself. She doesn't need you fighting her battles for her," he bit out.

"Not in this, because she won't. She doesn't really see it but we do, we have," Espo flared.

Castle glanced at Ryan, who'd been trying to appear invisible, until Espo just brought him into it. Ryan looked less than comfortable, throwing a quick look at Espo, but then he met Castle's eyes. Okay, so Ryan understood what Espo meant and while Ryan might not say it, he wasn't convinced Espo was in the wrong either.

Castle tamped down on his burgeoning defensiveness. If there was more, he did want to know. "What are you talking about?" he asked with manufactured reasonableness.

"You got no idea, do you, what her mom's case does to Beckett?" Espo asked, less belligerently.

Castle opened his mouth to respond but then shut it again as he abruptly remembered something he'd… not forgotten but not really considered either. What Beckett had told him when he'd first asked her, after the fact, if she'd considered looking into her mom's case again. _It's the same reason a recovering alcoholic doesn't drink. _He remembered what Beckett had mentioned about her dad; she wouldn't have used the analogy lightly. And he himself had seen enough of substance abuse in various forms—never of anyone too close to him, thank god—to realize what it meant, because an alcoholic never stopped at just one drink or even two drinks or anything reasonable. Addicts didn't stop. Consequences be damned, addicts couldn't stop.

What would he call a person who knowingly gave a drink to a recovering alcoholic—or a dealer giving drugs to a recovering drug addict? Nothing good. He felt as if someone was digging his heart out with a butter knife.

"No, you don't know because you never saw it," Espo answered his own question with some bitterness. "You opened up the rabbit hole again, you practically shoved her into it, and then you just left. Did you even bother to look back once or did you just go back to your nice, cushy life, not even stopping to think about what kind of mess you might have left behind?"

Castle just stared, drowning in an avalanche of regret and guilt. "I… I thought about it, thought about her, every day," he managed lamely but stopped. It might be true but it wasn't exactly a defense either. "I—she told me to leave, said we were done," he started again with marginally more force. "What was I supposed to do, keep coming back when she didn't want me around? I couldn't—wouldn't—do that."

"She did tell you to leave," Ryan stepped into the breach, shooting Espo a look. Espo didn't back down and after a moment of warring looks, Ryan broke up the visual duel by turning back to Castle. "He has a point," he admitted. He made a small face. "I don't blame you for it because I know it wasn't your choice to leave but, well… Beckett's been…" He hesitated, glancing over at Beckett, no longer on the phone, but reading something on her computer screen. "She's been really… intense…"

Castle blinked. "Beckett's always been intense." It was practically her middle name. It was part of what made her such a good cop, so extraordinary. Her determination, the way she never gave up.

Ryan grimaced at him. "I _know_ that," he retorted with the first flash of irritation, "but I meant, she's been more intense. And not just about her mom's case but everything. After you left, it's like she's dialed it up to 20, out of 10, you know, never quitting, barely stopping to breathe."

"The Captain practically had to bully her into taking any time off and even then, she takes the bare minimum," Espo contributed. "It's been great for our case closure rate but…" It was his turn to grimace. "And then with all the shit that's gone down over her mom's case…" He paused and speared Castle with another look. "And you just left her to drown."

Castle remembered, with a leaden feeling of guilt and remorse sinking in his gut, what Montgomery had said about Beckett burning her candle at both ends. Montgomery had been worried enough about Beckett to try to help even in what were practically his last words, had written to Castle in what was the equivalent of a deathbed request.

Beckett herself had almost confirmed how far she'd fallen down the rabbit hole, not in so many words, but in how she'd been looking into her mom's case after the Dick Coonan incident—hadn't he wondered when she was finding the time to do so considering the hours she already worked—and then her persistence in taking time to visit Lockwood in prison every week for months.

Esposito had a point. Beckett herself would never say such a thing, never admit such a thing, Beckett who wouldn't admit to needing help. Who always seemed to rate her own well-being at the bottom of her list of considerations, assuming it made the list at all. How much worse would it be when it came to her mom's case? This was one area where others would need to step up, protect her from herself if nothing else.

And Castle could also admit that Esposito—and Ryan too, for that matter—might have a genuine beef with him because they, as her team, would have put up with the brunt of Beckett's increased intensity. They had been the ones to try and keep her from falling down the rabbit hole, had been the ones to have her back through all of this; yes, it was their job but that didn't make what they'd done nothing either. Their loyalty to Beckett ensured that they went above and beyond what duty required, in a way not a lot of cops would. He hadn't thought of that.

He hadn't thought of a lot of things before he'd made his ill-fated decision to call up Clark Murray about the Johanna Beckett case. He had (mostly) wanted to help Beckett, do something to prove his worth, help her by giving her closure on the case he knew haunted her. He wasn't sure if he'd even expected Dr. Murray would find anything significant, which was partially why he hadn't mentioned it to Beckett before calling Dr. Murray. He didn't know how many times in the last two years he'd reviewed his own thoughts and actions in this but here he was, doing it again. No wonder people said the road to hell was paved with good intentions. His intentions might ultimately have been good but god, the ripple effects of his decision never seemed to stop. That should cure him of impulsive decisions.

"I thought for a while, Demming might help, give her a reason to get out of the precinct more, but that went nowhere and it's like she got worse after that," Ryan added glumly.

"Who's Demming?" Castle blurted out, distracted.

"Robbery detective, worked with him on a couple robbery-homicide cases last spring," Ryan explained briefly. "He and Beckett were… well, you know, for a little while."

Castle felt an absurd, sharp stab of jealousy over this unknown detective. Just thinking about some other man getting to kiss Beckett, touch her… He inwardly writhed. It wasn't as if he hadn't wondered about Beckett's love life in the last two years—he had and been jealous, to say nothing of hurt, at the mere thought of her dating—but it was worse, somehow, to have a name to attach to the idea. To know for certain that Beckett had dated another man.

Which was stupid and unfair and hypocritical of him—yes, he knew that, thank you—since he hadn't been celibate in the last two years either but jealousy was never exactly rational, was it?

But yet again, he wondered sickly what he could have done, should have done, differently. Aside from not prying into Beckett's mom's case in the first place. But he had. And he couldn't have justified not telling her about Dr. Murray's findings—that would have been even worse.

He should have apologized to Beckett sooner. Yes, that was for damn sure. His own stupid pride and defensiveness had gotten in the way. And fine, his past, his experiences as a rich celebrity that had allowed him to get away with being a jackass with impunity, had come back to bite him. He hadn't really been held accountable for his actions in a while. Aside from his family, Beckett was probably the first person in years who had held him accountable for his own actions, had not been willing to put up with his nonsense.

And he couldn't help but think that he should have tried harder, not given up so fast on Beckett. Could have tried to contact her earlier, in any of the million times he'd thought about it in the last two years. He could have tried.

Instead, he'd… well, he'd sulked, low be it spoken. When he'd finally accepted that when Beckett had kicked him out of her life, she'd meant it, he'd retreated for a while, to lick his wounds. He'd turned down the Bond offer because at the time, he'd still been holding out hope that Beckett would somehow reach out and forgive him, that she'd come to the _Heat Wave_ launch party, _something_, and he hadn't wanted to commit himself to another project just in case. (And yes, he might have been reluctant to work directly on a series about his favorite boyhood hero, not wanting to risk taking the fun out of it, by turning it into work. He liked being a James Bond fan; he didn't want it to be work.) He didn't necessarily regret that—even if Paula hadn't fully forgiven him yet—and then he'd turned down the offer to write more Nikki Heat books because he'd known he couldn't write them without Beckett.

He'd only crawled out of the doldrums when he'd come up with the idea to write an apology in book-form, in the off-chance, the hope, that Beckett would read it and forgive him. The idea had galvanized him, given him a purpose. For once in his writing career, he had come up with the subplot first and then built the main plot around it, written a mystery that dealt with secrets, both the guilty kind and the not-guilty kind, the limits of privacy and the things that should be kept private. The challenge of constructing a mystery around such themes had kept him going—and pleased Alexis, he knew, to see him working and writing diligently again.

The book had been generally well-received and even Gina had approved. It had also partially been the cause for the brief, ill-judged rekindling of his relationship with Gina last summer. He'd been lonely and Gina had been a useful resource to bounce ideas off of, someone to talk to. But it had become too obvious (to both of them—and Gina had not been pleased, to put it mildly) that Gina was not what he was looking for, was not the person he really wanted to be with.

But when his burst of motivation over the book was over, he'd been left with… nothing. No more inspiration, no more ideas. All he'd managed to write since then were a few disjointed scenes, snippets of dialogue, character sketches, but he hadn't come up with anything approaching a real plot, certainly nothing that could possibly support a full-length novel.

And where before he might have sought distraction by going out more, he'd found he had no real desire to go out to parties either. He didn't want to be surrounded by women who he could only compare to Beckett and find them wanting, didn't want to be faking smiles or playing up his celebrity persona. Going to parties had only reminded him all the more of what he'd lost. With Beckett, in the precinct, he'd found a place where he could be real, valued for himself and his actual contributions, and after that, returning to the artificiality of the celebrity circuit had been too dispiriting.

After the book had been released, he'd been waiting, not wanting to hope but unable to help it either. He had no guarantee that Beckett would read the book but he'd hoped she would and then… And then what? Had he honestly expected her to reach out to him? Looked at more rationally, he knew expecting the self-sufficient, independent Detective Beckett, who never asked for anything that he could remember, to reach out of her own volition to offer forgiveness—especially when he was the one in the wrong and they hadn't so much as talked to each other in a year—had to be the height of foolishness. It was partly what was so damn frustrating about Beckett—and at the same time, was part of what made her so fascinating too.

But it wasn't on Beckett either. Looked at more rationally, he could see that as far as she knew, he had walked away from her without a second thought. She couldn't read his mind or sense his emotions to know just how far from the truth that was.

Castle suppressed a sigh and then looked up to meet both Espo's and Ryan's gazes in turn. "I'm sorry. I was an idiot." He could think of worse epithets that also fit but 'idiot' would do.

"Yeah, so what are you gonna do about it?" Espo challenged, although his tone lacked any real bite this time.

Where was a time machine when you needed one, Castle thought not humorously. He would give just about anything to be able to go back, do things differently. But since that wasn't an option… "I'm here now and I'll stay, as long as Beckett allows it. I'm not going anywhere." He hadn't used his friendship with the Mayor to come back before but he would now, as long as Beckett was okay with his staying, if the new Captain wasn't so keen on a civilian consultant.

"Okay, well, that's up to her," Espo agreed. "Just one more thing, if you hurt her again…" He left the threat unsaid, not that it needed to be expressed.

"I won't, not if I can possibly help it," he vowed as solemnly as he could.

"Okay," Espo nodded.

"Are we good now?" Castle blurted out. He didn't want to be on the outs with the boys—he liked being popular so sue him—but that aside, he knew that if Espo still held a grudge, he could make things difficult as far as reconciling with Beckett. If Espo wanted him gone, his staying would damage the team dynamic and that was something Beckett wouldn't allow.

"Keep bringing in food and we'll see," Espo flipped back but now it was a joke.

Castle allowed himself a smile. "Will do."

Another step closer to rejoining the team. Castle schooled his expression as Beckett slipped back into the conference room.

"Hey guys," she began in the tone of someone with news, and they all looked up. "Word came down that Lieutenant Juarez is going to be stepping in as acting Captain for the next few days."

"Juarez," Castle repeated. "I don't think I've met him."

"He oversees the gang unit so you probably haven't," Beckett concurred.

"What's he like?"

"A good cop, experienced," Ryan was the one who answered. "He worked in homicide over at the 26th before he came over to the 12th after he made Lieutenant."

After that, there didn't seem much more to say so they returned to their task of going through the files but Castle felt a surge of what he admitted was probably unjustified optimism. Just to be here, working together with the team again, felt good. As if he was once again contributing, although, he reminded himself, he hadn't really done anything yet.

_~To be continued…~ _

_A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers. _


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: This chapter was one I enjoyed writing so I hope you enjoy it too.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 7_

"Hmm."

It had been almost two hours of them fruitlessly poring over the case files, although Beckett and the boys each left at various points to return to their desks to do the actual work they needed to be doing. Castle leaned back in his chair, stretching to work out the kinks that had settled in his back and shoulder muscles, and then returned his attention to the file before him. It was pure chance that had his hand landing where it did, the L formed by his thumb and pointer almost perfectly framing the box listing one of the arresting officers. And maybe it was the placement of his hand or just fresher eyes from having moved around a little, but he found his gaze focusing more than it usually had, not just on the name but on the type face. He stiffened.

His involuntary grunt of surprise had three heads lifting but it was Beckett who asked first, "What, Castle? Have you found something?"

He didn't answer immediately, not being sure what to say, just lifted the sheet of paper so that the sunlight from the window was slanting through it to give him a clearer view. This was… something. He didn't know what it might mean yet, if anything, but it was something. A potential odd sock.

"Castle?" Ryan prompted this time.

"Who's Napolitano?" he asked instead of answering.

"He's retired. Why are you asking about Napolitano?"

He looked up from the paper now, meeting Beckett's alert gaze, as he explained succinctly. "He and Raglan are listed as arresting officers on this report but this has been altered."

That pronouncement had both the boys and Beckett standing up to crowd around him and Castle had to fight to keep from reacting visibly because Beckett was really close right now as she leaned over his shoulder—he could feel the heat of her body, swore he could sense the way her breath was stirring the air next to his ear—and the hand braced on the back of his chair was brushing against his shoulder. It didn't mean anything, was an accidental touch, and he knew it. All her attention was focused on the record anyway.

But for all his mental lecturing, he couldn't help it as every nerve in his body seemed to zero in on the spot where her hand was touching his shoulder. Beckett didn't touch him that often. It meant that every time she did seemed seared onto his memory.

Castle forced himself to breathe normally—trying not to be distracted by the faint scent of cherries from her hair—and was thankful when Espo asked, "How can you tell? Looks the same to me."

"Because I know typewriters," he explained. "Older typewriters used cloth ribbons. If you look closely, you can see the striations in the typeface. Newer typewriters use film ribbon." He lifted the paper to the sunlight again, pointing out Raglan's name and then Napolitano's. "See the difference?"

"Hmm," Beckett hummed agreement close to his ear and he swore the hairs on the back of his neck lifted in involuntary response, to say nothing of the internal reactions like the undeniable stab of arousal. (Ridiculous, to be reacting so strongly. He had been in tons of decidedly more erotic situations but this was Beckett and that was explanation enough.)

"It's really subtle," Ryan noted, "but now that you point it out, I can see it."

"Right," Castle managed, dragging his mind back to the point. "Somebody whited out the assisting officer's name on this report, photocopied it and then put in Napolitano's name."

The boys and Beckett straightened up, the boys returning to their seats, while Beckett paced a little. Castle kept his eyes on Beckett, or more accurately, his eyes simply could not leave Beckett. (He was depressingly certain that he could spend the rest of his life looking at Beckett and never tire of the sight.)

"Montgomery?" Ryan was the one who voiced the name.

Beckett grimaced but relented, "That's the best guess. Who else would have a reason to do it? And he would have served as Raglan's assisting officer if Raglan helped train him."

Castle wasn't sure if it made it better or worse to know that Montgomery had gone so far as to alter records in order to cover up his involvement in the kidnapping ring. It proved that Montgomery had realized he'd done wrong but also that he'd intended to avoid accountability. And what was the saying, that it wasn't the crime but the cover-up.

But then, Castle reminded himself, Montgomery had also been trying to protect his kids from any fallout too.

His kids—oh, wait. Castle belatedly realized something. This kidnapping scheme had been going on 19 years ago. Montgomery's eldest, his son, was 18 and had just started college this past fall. He remembered a poker game back in the fall where Judge Markaway had congratulated Montgomery for sending his first kid off to college. (Personally, Castle, with Alexis all-too-rapidly nearing college age, had thought commiseration was the more appropriate response but he hadn't said so.)

Having kids, becoming a father, must have been, at least in part, what had made Montgomery reform, become the man, the cop, they all knew and had come to respect so much. Castle felt a rush of understanding. He of all people knew how becoming a father could change a person, how much becoming a father had changed him.

It was Esposito who voiced what they had to all be wondering. "Now what?"

Beckett paced a little more before she turned back to face them. "Well, we have a better idea of what to look for now, at least. We can double-check if he missed something, at least." She focused on Castle. "How likely is it do you think that anyone else would notice the altered report?"

He considered it. "Probably not very; it depends on how well the person knows typewriters and how closely they're looking."

Beckett gave him a somewhat tight-lipped twitch of her lips that served as the substitute for a smile. "Guess it's lucky for us you do know typewriters."

As compliments went, it wasn't much but he still felt a lift of his heart, feeling as if he'd been awarded something immensely precious. He had contributed and Beckett had acknowledged it. For now, it was enough.

They returned to their files with somewhat more energy now that they had a better idea of what to look for—although it also meant they now realized they had to go back over the files they had previously only glanced at for Montgomery's name because they needed to look closer to catch any alterations. It was slower and more painstaking work but none of them made so much as a peep of protest. It was, Castle knew, one way in which Beckett's influence worked; she herself was so dedicated that she inspired (or shamed) the people around her into being just as dedicated. Oh, he didn't doubt that Espo and Ryan would both have been good cops even if they hadn't worked with Beckett—she couldn't teach them to be good at their jobs—but the level of her dedication did tend to push others around her into doing more and better. Beckett led by example, the way all true, good leaders did. Like Captain Picard, his geek brain inserted. Castle pushed the irrelevancy aside and refocused on the files.

Over the course of the next hour, they found a handful of other altered records, Castle and Ryan each identified one more, Espo found two, and Beckett also found two. A couple of the altered records again involved Napolitano who, Ryan told him, could not have been the third cop, even if they hadn't already known he wasn't, because he'd been at his daughter's wedding the day Bob Armen was killed. One of the altered records involved a Nolan Fillmore, who also had an alibi for the Bob Armen murder, while the other involved a Toby Whittaker, who had passed away a few years ago. In other words, Castle couldn't help but note, even if Montgomery had been covering his own tracks, he hadn't been willing to do so at the expense of incriminating anyone else. Which was consistent with the man Castle had known. He knew Beckett had noted that fact too; there was a subtle easing of her posture, the set of her lips, as this pattern emerged.

A little while later, Espo returned to his desk for a phone call and to take care of the real work he still needed to do while Ryan slipped out for a bathroom break, leaving him and Beckett alone.

Beckett sighed as she put away the file she'd been looking at, pausing to rotate her head in one of her characteristic little gestures when she'd been in the same posture for too long that he'd forgotten about but that struck him now with a pang of familiarity.

"It's been a long morning," he commented inanely.

She looked up at him, a faint trace of a smile on her lips. "Yeah, but at least we've got something to go on now." Her lips curved more definitely into a smirk as she added, "Not bad, for a writer."

How he loved her teasing. He made a show of mock offense. "Not bad, when I was the one who found the altered record? I think you meant to say that I'm brilliant."

"Still as vain as ever, I see," she needled but he took heart because she was smiling, her eyes brighter, and that was what he'd wanted. He would take all the mockery she would throw if only it meant she kept on smiling.

"It's not vanity if it's true," he pontificated but his solemn statement was undercut—ridiculously—as his stomach chose that moment to growl and Beckett laughed aloud.

He threw her a look of exaggerated reproach. "Sure, mock a man when he's down, will you?" He had a sudden thought. "I could really use a good burger right now. And I happen to know there's a place just a few blocks away that makes a great burger and really good milkshak—"

"Remy's?" she interrupted him.

He didn't have to affect his surprise. "You know about Remy's?"

She rolled her eyes. "Castle, I've worked in this building for years. I don't think there's a single restaurant in a 5 block radius I haven't tried at least once."

She had a point. "Well, then, Detective, what about going to Remy's for lunch? You need to eat sometime," he added.

He fully anticipated a debate over this. From what he remembered, Beckett didn't often leave the precinct for a real lunch break. If she ate lunch at all, it was usually delivered to the precinct and eaten at her desk or in the conference room going over evidence.

She thought about it for a few seconds, almost stretching into a minute. "All right."

He blinked. "You will?"

"I just want to avoid how much you'd pester me until I agreed," she quipped.

He smirked, nodding in pretended self-congratulation. "Ah, see, my well-honed strategy of annoying people into doing what I want works."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't take it as encouragement. I do have a gun, remember?"

He had to tamp down on the grin that was threatening to break out, the unruly surge of elation in his chest. God, he was so doomed when every little gesture from Beckett made him so happy. Especially when he still had no guarantee that she would let him stay in her life from now on. But he couldn't stamp out the hope unfurling in his chest. Because this was Beckett and she was voluntarily agreeing to spend more time with him. Just lunch as friends but after the last two years, that alone was almost a miracle, was definitely a dream come true. (Yes, he was doomed.)

* * *

Kate wasn't sure why she agreed to go to Remy's with Castle.

Well, okay, that wasn't entirely true. She hadn't been intending it, had been a little surprised to hear the agreement fall out of her mouth, but once she had agreed, she wasn't really that surprised either. Great, now she wasn't making any sense even in her thoughts.

She had just… missed him. But more than that, she'd forgotten—or tried not to remember—that as much as Castle could irritate her, she also enjoyed his company. And that was especially true right now when his humor and levity, his talent for brightening things up, was so appreciated. Maybe if he had returned to her life in other more normal circumstances, she wouldn't have been quite so quick to allow herself to, well, like him again, but right now, given how hard these past few days had been and how hard the coming days would still be, she couldn't seem to resist it.

It wasn't only his humor that she'd missed either, she'd realized. Talking to him yesterday about her mom's case, what Montgomery had done, had reminded her forcibly that for all their apparent differences, she and Castle did speak the same language, as it were. His quickness and ease of understanding had made a difficult conversation just a little less difficult.

It was a short walk to Remy's and it felt oddly… normal to have Castle falling into step beside her. And even though she didn't normally leave the precinct for lunch, she couldn't deny that it felt good to be out in the sunshine, even better to be out of the bullpen with the constant depressing reminder of Captain Montgomery's loss in the form of his dark, vacant office.

She was conscious of Castle sliding quick glances at her as they walked but he didn't speak and she was a little surprised at that, had forgotten or never really realized that he was capable of being quiet. She carefully kept her gaze trained forward but couldn't help but catch glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye, mostly unconsciously cataloging his height and build, how easily he matched his stride to hers. It was an odd thing to take notice of, such an insignificant detail, but somehow it seemed imbued with more meaning than it should have, that walking beside him was comfortable. She was tall and tended to walk fast, partly out of habit from her job, had to adjust her steps when walking with Lanie, but Castle effortlessly matched her stride. Their arms even appeared to move in sync so they weren't constantly bumping against each other either. (Why did any of this matter?)

Kate didn't know why she was surprised that Castle was greeted familiarly by the waitstaff at Remy's. It seemed so typically like him to somehow manage to make friends of the waitstaff. And she didn't think it hurt that the smile he gave Susan, the waitress at Remy's who had been there long enough to be a fixture, was tinged with just a little flirtation, enough to be flattering to a woman who had to be old enough to be Castle's mother but not enough to be anywhere close to inappropriate.

Susan lit up with a smile as she bustled over to them and directed them to a booth. "Detective and Ricky, I've been wondering if I'd ever see you two here together ever since reading _Heat Wave_. Are you two on a date?"

Castle coughed and Kate forced a small laugh, even as she felt herself flushing for no reason at all. "No, it's not a date. We're just friends."

Susan pulled a humorously sad face as she handed them each menus and then hurried off to get them waters.

Kate hid her heated cheeks behind her menu, never mind that she always ended up ordering the same thing and so didn't really need to look at the menu at all.

Fortunately, by the time Susan returned with their waters and to take their orders—a bacon cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake for Castle and a regular cheeseburger and strawberry milkshake for Kate—her cheeks had cooled allowing her to surrender her menu without a qualm.

Although Susan's question and the mention of _Heat Wave_ had reminded her… "I met an old friend of yours a while ago."

He blinked, a faint frown creasing his brows for a moment. "An old friend?" he parroted questioningly.

"Mm hmm." She took a sip of her water. "Kyra Blaine. She said you used to date?"

To his credit, Castle didn't squirm or color or even look nonplussed. He only nodded. "Yeah, we did. Years ago."

She arched her eyebrows at him and waited.

He gave in, adding, "We met in college and were together for two years."

Kate was proud of her poker face as she sternly hid her surprise. Two years? That meant Kyra and Castle had more than just dated; they'd been in a really serious relationship. She hadn't realized. The thought made an odd sensation roll through her stomach that she didn't try to analyze. "I didn't ask," she responded blandly.

"You were not asking very loudly."

Point to him. "We met on a case and you'd probably have enjoyed this set-up for a mystery. One of her bridesmaids was murdered on the eve of the wedding."

But then he surprised her. "I know."

It was her turn to blink. "You know? How?"

He had the nerve to smirk a little. "For the very good reason that Kyra told me."

He was still in touch with his ex-girlfriend? But Kyra was married now and from what Kate had seen, totally in love with her new husband. "Kyra told you? You talked to her?"

Castle sat back in the booth. "As you probably know from the case, Kyra lives out in LA now."

Kate nodded. Yes, she did know that.

"And after the wedding, meeting you, it made Kyra decide to look me up. Last fall, I had a book signing out in LA so Kyra came to it and afterwards, we went out for a drink to catch up and talk over old times a little and then her husband, Greg, joined us for dinner."

"So you met her husband too. That sounds nice." Awkward, more like, but he sounded very matter-of-fact about it, as if seeing his old college girlfriend married to someone else hadn't created so much as a blip of reaction.

"It was a good evening. It was nice to see Kyra again and Greg seems like a good guy, although I didn't get to know him very well, and there's no doubt that he and Kyra are happy together."

That was it? She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting but this species of calm indifference wasn't it. This was Castle, overly excitable man-child that he was. Plus, she remembered the dedication to _A Rose For Everafter—To Kyra Blaine. You make the stars shine._ That was more like the dramatic, romantic poet flair she would have expected from Castle.

"It wasn't weird for you, seeing Kyra with her husband?" she asked before she could think better of it and realizing only belatedly how personal the question was, making a mockery of the idea of keeping a distance between them.

He shrugged a little. "Yes, Kyra meant a lot to me but it was a long time ago and we've both changed since then. I was glad to know she's happy but that's it."

"That sounds surprisingly mature of you," she teased mildly.

He smirked. "I know, it was pretty good, wasn't it? I impress even myself sometimes."

She rolled her eyes. "And there you go again. I take it back."

Predictably, he shrugged that off. "Kyra said she was impressed by you."

It might have been rank flattery but Kate couldn't help a small smile at that. "Kyra seemed very nice. It surprised me to find out about you two," she found herself adding.

He affected a look of mock injury. "It surprised you to find out that I once dated someone nice? I'm hurt. I mean, where Meredith is concerned, you might be right but still."

What about his first ex-wife? She tucked the question away in the back of her mind. "That wasn't what I meant. I just meant that Kyra's different from your ex-wives or the girls who've been pictured with you on Page Six. She's... real." She hadn't thought he went for real.

She was half-expecting him to crack a joke but he surprised her by actually appearing to think about it. She always was surprised when Castle took things seriously but she really shouldn't be, she supposed; she'd seen enough glimpses of his serious side—even on things that didn't relate to Alexis, who she knew Castle always took seriously—to know he was capable of it. "I can see what you mean. Kyra is… was the last serious girlfriend I had before I became a big hit. To her, I was always just Rick, not Richard Castle. And since then, I guess it's been harder to meet other people who are real."

Kate nodded slowly, a little surprised and impressed too that he would make such a distinction. Before, he'd spent so much time playing up the rich celebrity author persona that she hadn't thought there was anything more to him than that but now, she knew there was more. A jackass celebrity wouldn't have apologized so sincerely, would never have felt he needed to do anything to make up for a mistake, even assuming he admitted to making one.

Unbidden, she suddenly remembered what she'd said to him in the interrogation room the first time they met, that she wasn't like one of the celebutantes or bimbettes who surrounded him at his launch party because she actually worked for a living. It was true—but it occurred to her that Castle, no matter the kind of woman he tended to be surrounded by these days, might actually want someone real. His ex-wives weren't but then, there had to be a reason they were his ex-es. And the man she saw when he was with his family—he was real himself, in spite of his wealth and his fame.

"Wow, you really are trying hard to sound like a grown-up, aren't you?" she managed to tease.

"It's a phase," he quipped. "Temporary maturity." Then he brightened up in that way that still reminded her of a puppy expecting a treat. "Tell me about the case. Kyra didn't tell me the whole story, just mentioned that one of her bridesmaids was murdered and that delayed her wedding. A murdered bridesmaid sounds like the story could be juicy."

And there was the excitable man-child again. But now, Kate knew there was more to him than that. "It really kind of was. You'd probably have gotten a kick out of it, if it weren't for the whole Kya thing," she began before she started to tell him about the case, the plot Sophie Ronson had been involved in.

She was still mid-story when their food arrived, causing a brief pause as she took a few bites. She really was hungry, she belatedly realized. She hadn't been eating enough this week.

Castle left her to it, stepping up to fill the silence with some comments on his memories of those members of the wedding party he was familiar with from his days dating Kyra, referring to Kyra's mother, Sheila, as "that old battle-axe," and making Kate almost choke on her bite of burger. Sheila Blaine had not struck Kate as being the warm and friendly type certainly but even so, this was probably the most openly unfriendly thing she'd ever heard Castle, the easy-going, say about anyone.

"I take it you're not a fan of Sheila's."

Castle snorted. "It would be more accurate to say Sheila's not a fan of mine. If looks could kill, I'd never have survived college. She _hated_ me."

Huh. His emphasis made it clear Sheila hadn't just mildly disapproved of Castle as her daughter's boyfriend. It was a little surprising—and made Kate feel an even more surprising swell of defensiveness on Castle's behalf. (Since when?) But really, Castle had his flaws but Kate couldn't see what would make any sane woman disapprove of him so strongly as her daughter's boyfriend. That had been before Castle had been divorced, before he had acquired the playboy reputation. And even so, he was a decent man, a nicer man than even Kate had fully realized, funny, kind, and smart, to say nothing of his looks and fortune—well, okay, he wouldn't have had the fortune back in his college days when he'd first met Sheila but still. Was that Sheila's problem, that she'd wanted Kyra to marry rich?

"Well then, I guess it's lucky you weren't around for the case," Kate commented and added, "I think she scared Ryan a little."

That made Castle relax into a brief chuckle. "That's because Ryan has a basic sense of self-preservation."

"I think Espo would call it something different," Kate noted dryly.

"Yeah, well, Espo can be a meanie."

Kate had noted—of course—the coolness between Esposito and Castle, although she hadn't asked what it was about, but Castle's tone and use of the childish term made it clear he was joking so she allowed herself a small laugh.

He grinned at her, one of his real grins that brightened his eyes. He really did have the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. She felt a stupid flutter in her chest, the magnetic tug of attraction, to his eyes, his smile, just... _him_.

(Damn it.)

She cut her eyes away, taking an abrupt and overly-large gulp of her milkshake, and quickly resumed the story of the case. Castle's face darkened as she told him about Sophie's sneaking into Greg's room that night but Kate quickly added that Greg's story had proven to be true and he hadn't done anything wrong.

Castle grimaced. "That must have been hard on Kyra, hearing that story. She wouldn't have known what to think."

"Yeah, I think it was but it ended happily, or at least as happily as any murder can end. Greg's trust in his uncle was betrayed but Greg and Kyra got married and the ceremony ended up being very nice, small and intimate."

"You were invited to the ceremony?"

She nodded. "Kyra said it was a thank you, because if it weren't for me, they probably wouldn't have been able to have the ceremony at all." She did not mention that Kyra had also said it was partly because she felt like Kate was already an old friend, just from having read the Nikki Heat book.

His expression softened into a smile and in his smile, she could see that he was remembering things she had no idea about, his relationship with Kyra. "That sounds like Kyra."

"She and Greg were doing well when you saw them?"

"Yeah, they said so and I could tell from looking at her."

The reminder of how well Castle had once known Kyra made an odd sensation curl through Kate that she didn't care to analyze. It was stupid anyway because from what Castle had said, he was being completely truthful when he said he was over Kyra. (And even if he wasn't, why should she care?)

That apparently ended the conversation about Kyra and they easily switched to chatting idly as they finished up their burgers, avoiding any more serious topics as Castle shared some stories of Martha's acting school and Alexis's teenager drama, the recent spat she'd had with one of her old friends, and Castle (again) bemoaned the idea of Alexis going so far away for college.

After they were done eating and were waiting for the check, they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Kate shrugged off her light jacket and now, with their plates cleared away, rested her arms on the table.

Castle's eyes dipped to her arms or, more specifically, to her dad's watch on her wrist, an expression she couldn't read crossing his face before he looked back up at her. Had he forgotten, was wondering why she wore what was obviously a man's watch?

"It's my dad's watch," she offered.

He nodded almost imperceptibly. "I remember you wearing it before."

Before, when he'd still been shadowing her. She lowered her own gaze to focus on the watch, smoothing her right thumb over the face, the faint scratches around the rim she could still see when she looked closely. "I thought I'd lost it for about a week last year," she found herself blurting out before she could think better of it. She'd been more devastated at the idea of losing her dad's watch than she had the rest of her belongings and her apartment put together.

She lifted her head again. "There was an explosion," she explained briefly. If he hadn't heard anything about the Nikki Heat connection, she wasn't going to mention it.

"The Nikki Heat serial killer," he supplied. So he had heard of it. "I was in LA at the time, in negotiations over the _Heat Wave_ movie, and didn't hear about it until afterwards when I got back to the City."

Oh, that explained why he hadn't been involved. She had half-expected at the time that Castle would be called in to consult, as he had been on their first case, had been mentally preparing herself for it, but then he hadn't shown up. She hadn't known at the time whether she was relieved or disappointed. (Disappointed, she belatedly decided.) The knowledge made a tiny, miniscule even, unacknowledged sore spot in her memory disappear. So Castle hadn't known about it at the time, had not decided not to involve himself.

"I wanted to call you, thought about calling you, to make sure you were okay. But I just wasn't sure…" he trailed off, lifting his shoulders in a small shrug.

He hadn't been sure if she would want to hear from him. She was abruptly, belatedly, ashamed of herself for the times she'd ignored his calls two years ago, the voicemail she'd deleted without listening. She'd been so hurt and so angry at him for looking into her mom's case and she hadn't wanted to listen to more of his justifications and excuses. She hadn't been fair to him, had she?

"I called Ryan instead and he told me you were fine."

He had called Ryan. Wait.

"It was you," she blurted out, surprising herself. "You were the one who had my dad's watch fixed, weren't you?" It was a question but even as she asked it, she was somehow already sure of the answer, her mind having connected the dots from Castle's expression in seeing her dad's watch, his having called Ryan, and Ryan himself, the way he had found and had her dad's watch fixed. She'd come closer to hugging one of the boys in the middle of the bullpen than she ever had, almost reduced to incoherent stuttering in her thanks, and Ryan had colored and shifted his weight, mumbling something about a friend of Jenny's having a connection before he'd escaped.

There had been a strange self-consciousness in Ryan's expression, his hurried explanation. At the time, Kate had assumed it had probably been something to do with Ryan not knowing this friend of Jenny's very well and not being entirely comfortable with asking a favor, and hadn't thought further about it. It could be—and yet…

Castle and Ryan had been in touch at the time.

And Castle had offered $100,000 of his own money for a chance at her mom's killer…

His eyes widened fractionally before his expression smoothed out again. "I—what?" he dithered. "What—uh—are you talking about?"

She met and held his gaze.

He caved. "I—yeah," he admitted.

Something in her stomach seemed to roll over at his admission, this new revelation of what he'd done for her.

"I didn't do much at all," he rushed to add. "Ryan and Espo found the pieces when they were scoping out your old apartment to make sure it was safe and Ryan took it to a local watch repair but they told him it couldn't be fixed. He hadn't decided yet what to do next and then I called him and he mentioned it and, well, I know a guy. I've been going to him for years to buy gifts for my mother and Alexis and he's created some custom pieces for my mother," he added.

It was, she thought, somehow—surprisingly—like Castle to demur and downplay what he'd done. She was starting to see a pattern in his behavior. He was cocky when it came to things like his looks, his fame, his connections—the superficial things. But when it came to the important things, the things that really betrayed the kind of man he was, he downplayed it. The kind of dad he was, the way he treated his family, his genuine kindness and generosity—like giving up $100,000 of his own money for a chance to catch her mom's killer, having her dad's watch fixed for her.

And it occurred to her, belatedly, that when he'd come to the precinct yesterday, it had not been only for Captain Montgomery's sake but because he had wanted to offer his condolences and support to _her_. It seemed like a self-centered thing to think but in light of everything else Castle had done, she had to believe it was true.

The thought was almost dizzying. She felt as if her world had been turned on its axis or, at the very least, as if she'd been viewing the world through blurry, distorted lenses and only now had the lenses removed to see clearly. All this time, she'd thought that Castle had walked away with barely a backward glance, shaking off the proverbial dust of the precinct from his expensively-shod feet.

But that wasn't true at all.

He had gone against her wishes once, in looking into her mom's case, but since then, he'd honored her express wishes, refraining from contacting her. But he hadn't forgotten her. Far from it. He had kept her in his mind, must have asked about her whenever he saw Captain Montgomery. (How else could Montgomery have been so sure that Castle still cared about her, sure enough that Montgomery had called Castle, expecting Castle to give $100,000 for a chance at her mom's killer? That aspect of it hadn't occurred to her yesterday but now, it did. Montgomery might have been the one pulling the strings but he would only have done so if he'd been very sure Castle would help and so Castle had.)

And Castle had kept in touch with Ryan too, another contact in her life.

He hadn't really left her at all. He had stayed and been there for her as much as he could without intruding on her life. He had done what he could to help her, whenever he knew she needed it, without any expectation of thanks. No one had ever done so much for her. It was an amazing and humbling thing.

Castle really did care about her.

Even if she accepted his explanation that he had given the money to try to catch her mother's killer in order to make amends for what he'd done, there was no other explanation for his having her dad's watch fixed.

She remembered what Castle had said—admitted—yesterday. _Because it was you._ As if that was all the explanation necessary. As if she fell into the category of people for whom he would unquestionably do whatever he could to help them, the way she knew he would for Alexis or Martha. But they were his family and she… was not.

She felt a scorching blush creep into her cheeks but she managed to meet his eyes. "Castle, I—thank you," she said, not entirely smoothly.

"It wasn't that big a deal," he demurred again. "My guy didn't even charge me for it."

By which he meant, she guessed, that Castle's "guy" hadn't charged him for anything more than the cost of the replacement parts. But it wasn't about the money and they both knew it.

Her chest, her throat, felt tight with emotion but she swallowed it back. "Yes, it was," she contradicted him. Restoring her dad's watch to her—she didn't have the words to explain what her dad's watch meant to her. "My dad's watch—it's important to me," was all she managed, very lamely.

"How is your dad doing?" he asked in an obvious bid to change the subject.

"He's doing well. He just got back from a work conference in Chicago. I'm having dinner with him tomorrow." It was more than she would normally answer to such a question, especially considering that Castle had never met her dad but now, after what he'd done, her usual answer that her dad was fine seemed brusque to the point of rudeness, and she found she couldn't leave it at that. Castle deserved more than that from her.

He might be a celebrity but he cared about her—still, even after all this time. Even after she had sent him away. All he had done for her, it was… evidence. Evidence she couldn't deny of a depth of friendship, of, well, feelings that had survived months of silence and distance. _Was_ it only friendship he felt? It could be; Kate had seen enough signs of Castle's generosity to suspect he likely would do as much for any good friend of his. But Montgomery had believed that it was more than that and Kate was starting to believe that it was true.

Castle was _here_, he was back, and he cared about her—possibly more than she'd ever imagined.

And, well, she had missed him. For the first time, the idea of a relationship with him didn't seem like such a crazy fantasy. If he wanted it, wanted her…

And was it what she wanted, not just as a fantasy but in reality? Was it really possible that she and Castle, with all their differences, could have something real?

_~To be continued…~. _

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Reworking some more of canon.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 8_

Castle decided afterwards that happiness and hope were apparently very effective as fodder for inspiration because he had an epiphany as they walked back to the precinct after lunch. The lunch which Beckett had insisted on paying for, over his protest, saying she could do no less after he was doing her a favor helping them go through Raglan's and McCallister's old records. She did not mention what she'd figured out about his having her dad's watch fixed although he knew they were both thinking of it. (He didn't know how she'd figured it out either but decided to chalk it up to Beckett's scary brilliance to the point of telepathy.)

But he was happy and hopeful—and this time, his hope felt like it had more of a basis for it—because there'd been something in her eyes, in her smile, that made his heart flip and then start to rabbit around in his chest.

Plus, she had blushed and Beckett didn't blush that easily or often.

Of course, he reminded himself sternly, it could just be the effect of gratitude and he didn't want that, never wanted her to feel obligated to him.

But his hope persisted.

"Oh, wait. I just had a thought," he announced, coming to a stop right in the middle of the sidewalk.

"I'm shocked. You actually think?" she murmured dryly and for a moment he was torn between offense and amusement before he had to laugh, acknowledging that he had walked right into that one. And he did love her wit, love the way her humor lit up sparks in her eyes. (He was so doomed.)

"Funny, Beckett," he shot back, "but you'll thank me when I tell you my idea."

This was one of those times when it was useful to be a writer. Beckett and the boys faced forward when it came to evidence, in a matter of speaking, they were used to looking for evidence when they didn't know the answers. But this, the kind of search they were doing now, was working their way backwards. Similar to the way he constructed his mysteries, where he started knowing the solution and then had to work his way backwards to construct the trail of evidence to lead to it.

"We've been looking at this the wrong way," he explained. He lowered his voice, probably unnecessarily since they were on the sidewalk and New Yorkers were known for their hear-no-evil attitude to people they passed on the sidewalk but still. "We already know Montgomery was the third cop and he must have been behind the altered records, right?"

"Right," she confirmed.

"So we don't need to find more records; Montgomery would know better than we do all the cases he worked on with Raglan anyway. All we're concerned about is if he left any breadcrumbs."

"Yes, so? Get to the point." Her tone was brisk, quintessential Beckett. He was absurdly reminded of what Montgomery had written about his being smart enough to keep up with Beckett; it mattered because Beckett did not have much patience for anyone who wasted her time and certainly not when it came to work.

"So what we need to find out is if anyone knows that Montgomery altered the records. The likelihood anyone else will notice the records were altered is pretty slim but they can and will ask around so we don't need to be looking at the records; we need to be looking at people."

Comprehension was dawning in her expression, a faint frown crinkling her brows in what he'd used to think of as her 'thinking face' and it gave him a sharp pang to see it again. "We need to find out who was manning the records room at different times."

"Exactly," he agreed. He knew she would get it; he loved how quick-witted she was. "When did Montgomery become Captain of the Twelfth?"

"In 2004," she answered and then went on, picking up on his train of thought. "He would most likely have altered the records soon after he became Captain, once he had full access to the records room. So we need to find out who was in charge of the records room at that time..."

"And see if he remembers Montgomery coming by and requesting old records, saw anything odd," Castle finished.

"Good idea." She flashed him a smile that he returned, his heart leaping. Oh, this was what he'd missed, possibly most of all. The way his and Beckett's minds worked together when they were on the same wavelength. It was… like magic or telepathy and he wasn't sure he'd ever met anyone who could be so in sync with him at times. It was a little strange to realize, considering all their apparent differences, and yet, somehow, it was true too.

And he'd missed, too, the rush of solving a mystery, putting clues together to make the story fall into place.

"I missed this," he found himself blurting out, because his mouth had clearly decided to function independently from his brain.

She quirked her eyebrows at him. "You missed me, paying you a compliment? You remember our time working together very differently because I don't remember doing any such thing before," she returned dryly.

Even if he'd wanted to, he still felt too uplifted to take offense at her teasing. "I meant that I missed the thrill of coming up with a solution, solving a mystery." He'd missed working with her but he managed to bite that confession back.

She shot him a smirk as she resumed walking. "Well, you have been pretty helpful today." She paused and by now, he knew her tone and her expression enough to expect her addition, "For a writer."

"I think you meant to say that I've been brilliant today," he declaimed with great dignity. "Truly impressive, even by my usual standards."

"Steady on the ego there, Castle. It was just an idea; we don't know if it'll actually work or lead to anything." But her expected caution was somewhat belied by a faint smile lurking around the corners of her mouth, the rising energy in her expression, the energy that practically crackled from her form when she was in full spate. He remembered it well; she had the determined look she got when she was hot on a lead. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that at moments like this, she looked as if she could single-handedly provide enough energy to light up the Empire State Building. And he could never, ever tire of seeing it.

Beckett's stride was brisk, her footsteps almost ringing on the floor, when they reentered the bullpen and Castle could see that the boys, unsurprisingly, could tell. Both their heads snapped up and they were already on their feet and moving into the conference room before Beckett even needed to indicate as much.

"What's up, Beckett?" Espo was the one to ask once they were all back in the conference room.

"Change of plans. Castle had an idea that we should be looking into who was in charge of the records room back when Montgomery first became Captain to see if they remember Montgomery coming around to alter the records. People aren't as likely to pick up on the difference in typewriters but they can ask around and someone might have noticed what Montgomery was doing."

Ryan was nodding. "Montgomery became Captain in 2005 or so, right?"

"Late 2004," Beckett corrected.

"Right, so we need to find out who was manning the records room back then," Esposito contributed.

"I'm on it," Ryan pivoted to the door.

"Thanks," Beckett addressed his back as he left, receiving a wave of acknowledgment, before she too left to return to her desk.

Esposito started stacking up the files scattered over the conference room table, boxing them up again, and Castle joined in. He did want to be helpful.

They worked in silence for a couple minutes before Espo gave Castle a sideways glance. "Not a bad idea about the records room. Especially since it spares us from having to look through these files until our eyes cross."

"Well, I know how much you love paperwork," he quipped.

Espo barked a brief chuckle at that. "Yeah, right."

"Anyway, I figure it's about time I did something helpful on this case."

Espo's only response was a little grunt, although that could have been because he was lifting a tall stack of files to place them into one of the boxes. They had boxed up the remainder of the files and Espo turned to leave the conference room before he paused. "It's not terrible having you back."

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming," Castle returned, matching Espo's dry tone with his own, but he found his spirits lifting as he followed Espo out of the conference room. In cop-speak, it was as much of a welcome back as he would get and at any rate, it signaled that Espo was definitely over his grudge. More, what Espo had said was both acknowledgement and tacit apology for his coolness and their discussion earlier.

Beckett glanced up as he once more resumed his seat by her desk. "You and Espo worked things out." It wasn't a question.

He wasn't surprised that Beckett had noticed—Espo's less than warm demeanor towards him had not been subtle—but he was a little surprised that she would comment. "Yeah."

"Espo can be moody sometimes."

That surprised him more. It wasn't an apology for Esposito's initial coldness, not exactly, but as an explanation or excuse, it was something. And it made his hopeful heart leap in his chest because it was some indication that Beckett wanted him to stay, not just for today, wanted him to come back to the precinct. She would know better than anyone that his return to the precinct would only work if the boys were okay with it too and it almost seemed… as if she was trying to smooth the way.

"It's really fine. Espo's got your back and I can't fault him for that." Castle had long ago stopped blaming Esposito for any part in this whole mess because when it came down to it, Castle was the one who had chosen to pry into Beckett's mom's case. Espo hadn't known and he certainly hadn't told Castle to dig into the Johanna Beckett case. If only Castle had been satisfied with just looking at the file but not digging further, or at least not without asking Beckett's permission first… Castle cut off the train of regrets. There was no point in dwelling on it now, not anymore. He'd spent the last two years thinking about this _ad nauseum_ but now, he had apologized and Beckett had forgiven him.

Her lips parted but whatever she might have been about to say was lost as her phone rang and she only gave him a quick, half-apologetic look before answering. "Beckett."

She'd been looking better, he belatedly realized, since they'd eaten and everything, more restored to her usual self, but he only realized it as he saw her go pale, subtle signs of tension creeping back into her expression, the faint lines around her mouth, the way she compressed her lips. Oh god, what now? Could she not get one reprieve?

Her eyes sought and held his—he didn't know why—and for once, he knew he was completely failing to hide the spike of worry he felt. He could only watch her, barely daring to breathe or move. He peripherally noted that for all the subtle signs of emotion in her expression, her voice remained controlled, in the few words she spoke, not betraying the slightest sign. She was amazing.

The call ended and she replaced the receiver in the cradle with a deliberate movement.

"Beckett?" His lips formed her name but it escaped in little more than a breath. No matter how concerned he was, he knew Beckett too well to think she would appreciate any overt expression of concern, and certainly not one expressed so other people could hear it.

She met his eyes. "That was One PP, letting me know about the funeral arrangements."

Oh. Yes, that would upset Beckett.

"The funeral has been scheduled for Tuesday, with the service starting at 10 a.m.," she went on, her voice strictly controlled. "They've approved a Full Honors funeral, mounted police, everything we asked for. And—" she paused and emotion flashed across her face before she went on, with an almost imperceptible change of tone, "they asked me to speak at the burial."

At that moment, he thought that he would give everything he owned just to be able to wrap his arms around her and hold her, offer his shoulder for her to lean on or cry on or something—but he didn't have that right. Maybe he would never have that right.

"Can I do something, anything?" he blurted out. It was not the smoothest offer of help but where Beckett was concerned, he seemed to lose whatever claim to finesse he had.

For the first time, something in her expression eased, lightened, in some indescribable way. It wasn't anything close to a smile, couldn't even be said that her eyes brightened, maybe it was just an infinitesimal lessening of tension in the set of her jaw. "I could use a coffee."

"You got it." He was on his feet and heading to the break room almost before the words were fully out of his mouth. He put as much effort into prepping the espresso machine and making Beckett's coffee as if it were going to be entered into the Olympics of coffee making and then all but poured his whole soul into creating a piece of foam art, after much thought deciding to shape a star, like the ones on the NYPD badges, in the foam. It came out surprisingly well, if he did say so himself.

When he returned to Beckett's desk, cradling the cup of coffee like some precious artifact, she had just returned from telling the boys about Montgomery's funeral arrangements, or so he assumed. He was amply rewarded for his effort in crafting the star in the foam in the way the faintest ghost of a smile momentarily lurked at the corners of her lips. "Thanks." Even as she said it, any momentary lightness in her expression faded as she added, quietly, "I have to call Evelyn. She needs to decide who she wants to give the eulogy at the service and choose pallbearers."

Pallbearers. Oh god, that hadn't even occurred to him. He inwardly flinched at the mere idea of Evelyn Montgomery needing to pick people for the terrible task of carrying her husband's _dead body _to his final resting place_. _And having to tell Evelyn about the task.

"I could call her, if you want," he found himself offering before he'd fully realized he was going to.

Beckett blinked, the set of her lips easing slightly. "No, thanks, but it's my job."

He had expected that, he realized belatedly. Beckett was not one to shirk her responsibilities. It was something he loved about her.

Even as he thought it, she was reaching for her phone to make the call. And he could only sit there, feeling useless, but not knowing what he could do. There was nothing he could do. He tried to take some small comfort in the fact that Beckett kept one hand curled around the mug of her coffee, as if she wanted its warmth, and sipped at the coffee as she spoke to Evelyn, but considering Beckett's usual predilection for coffee, he could be reading too much into nothing. And really, even if the coffee did help, it felt like a pathetically small thing considering how important Montgomery had been to Beckett.

It was like a new, refined form of torture, being so unable to help or comfort the woman he loved when he knew she was grieving, not just Montgomery's death but also Montgomery's betrayal, the fact that he'd been indirectly involved in her mother's death. But there really was nothing Castle could do. He couldn't take away her pain. There were no words to eradicate the wound left by Montgomery's loss and his past. Castle couldn't hold her. He couldn't handle the funeral arrangements for her because he wasn't a cop and because she wouldn't let him anyway.

He could only sit in his chair, like a bump on a log, doing nothing. He couldn't even find distraction in his phone, knew he wouldn't be able to focus enough even for a game, even if playing a game would be appropriate, which it absolutely wasn't. So he could only sit and be a silent, pained audience to her call with Evelyn.

Make that a conspicuous bump on a log, he mentally amended. Beckett kept shooting him glances, as if she was wondering what he was still doing there, as if she wanted to comment on his creepy staring but couldn't because she was on the phone. He suppressed the urge to fidget or shift his weight or otherwise betray just how useless he felt.

Beckett ended the call and put her phone down with a sigh and then just sat there for a moment, her head lowered.

"Are you okay?" he blurted out and then immediately could have kicked himself for the asinine question.

She looked up at him, blinking a few times, and his heart clenched as he realized she was fighting back tears. But even so, he was expecting an assurance that she was fine, in typical Beckett fashion, but she surprised him by answering instead, in a voice that was not entirely steady, "She started to cry."

He flinched in spite of himself.

"She didn't the other night, when I told her the news," Beckett went on, her voice very low. "She was… calm, numb, more like."

He nodded, his chest aching as if he'd just taken a sucker punch. The shock of such a thing; it could take time for the initial numbness to wear off.

"I thought… her stoicism made it harder, somehow…" Beckett paused, her lips twisting ruefully. "I was wrong about that."

Oh god… This might have been simultaneously one of the most painful things he'd ever heard and yet one of the most poignant and precious things too. It hurt, his chest aching with an almost physical pain at the thought of Evelyn Montgomery and all she'd lost, at the thought of Roy, but at the same time, he couldn't help but welcome the fact that Beckett was telling him this. Really talking to him, sharing something of her thoughts. It was not the most personal of confidences but it was something.

She did trust him. Not just about Montgomery's past but with her own thoughts, what was on her mind. And that realization alone almost made up for everything else. He could and would endure just about anything now that he knew she trusted him, again, and silently vowed never, ever, to betray her trust again.

Beckett had fallen silent, her gaze lowering to her now-empty mug, although he doubted she really saw it. One finger absently traced the rim of her mug, circling around and around, in a movement that was strangely mesmerizing.

He had to yank his eyes away, deliberately turning to look at Montgomery's dark, empty office and then towards the boys at their desks, a surefire way of stamping out the entirely inappropriate jolt of arousal he'd felt staring at the movement of her slender fingers, almost caressing her mug. Damn it, _no_, this was absolutely not the time or place.

To say nothing of the fact that he had no reason to think Beckett would be any more receptive to his physical attraction to her than she'd ever been.

Ryan was on the phone and scribbling something onto a notepad at the same time. Had he found something?

Castle's eyes and his attention were pulled away in the next moment by the sound of Beckett's voice.

She was still not looking at him, he noted, her absent gaze now focused on the little row of elephants on her desk. "You know, it was the Captain and Evelyn's 30th wedding anniversary a couple weeks ago."

Oh, wow. 30 years of marriage. That was… a lifetime.

"I didn't know that," he murmured lamely, even as he felt an absurd, irrational spike of envy. 30 years and still so happy together. A lasting relationship, a lasting love. It was the one dream of his life that had not come true—and he was starting to think would never come true. To find a real love that would last…

Instead… he was in love with a woman who was definitely not in love with him. He sighed.

"For her anniversary gift, the Captain told Evelyn he would retire from the force at the end of the year."

That got Castle's attention, making him straighten in his chair, as the tragedy of it all struck him with renewed force.

"They were planning to travel more, take some of those trips they'd talked about for years but never actually gone on…"

He winced. "But instead of picking travel destinations, now Evelyn has to pick pallbearers," he completed the thought, feeling the words like a stab in the chest.

Beckett's eyes flashed up to his, a little shiny with tears, and then she abruptly ducked her head so her face was shielded by the curtain of her hair, and he heard her quiet sniff.

Shit. _Nice going, Rick_, he thought sarcastically. _Make her feel even sadder than she already was. _

His mind flailed around helplessly. What could he do? He wanted to take her into his arms but that was not an option. Or hold her hand but that was out of the question too. He could say he was sorry—and he was—but it wouldn't help. "Can I get you another coffee?" he finally blurted out, lamely.

After a moment, she glanced up at him. "Yes, thanks," she answered in a voice that almost sounded normal except for being so quiet.

Again, he devoted as much care and attention into making her coffee as if his entire future rested on the quality of the latte he would make and he felt just a little bit better as he watched her sip the coffee. Her expression didn't look quite so strained at least. If coffee could comfort her even a little, then he silently vowed to keep her supplied with enough coffee to float a ship.

She had regained her usual composure and returned to whatever work she was doing when Ryan looked up and called over, "Hey, Beckett."

Castle and Beckett both looked up at the words and a quick jerk of Ryan's head had Beckett immediately standing to head into the conference room, while Castle followed.

"You got something, Ryan?" Beckett asked the moment the door was closed.

"Yeah, I think so." Ryan glanced down at the notepad in his hand although it was clear he knew what was on it before he looked up. "I narrowed it down to two officers, the ones who were in charge of the records room in the early years after Montgomery became Captain. First is Mike Yanavich, who ran the records room from '02 to '05 until he retired. After him, it was Shane Brodie and he ran the records room from '05 to '07."

"Brodie, I remember him," Esposito inserted.

"Yeah, me too," Beckett agreed. "He transferred to a different precinct when he made sergeant, right?"

"Right," Ryan confirmed. "He transferred to the 44th, is still there. And I checked, he's on duty today."

Beckett nodded. "Okay, we can go talk to him. What about Yanavich?"

"He's a harder one to track down because he retired," Ryan answered. "DMV records give his address as being down in Miami. He must've moved there after retiring from the force."

Beckett grimaced. "This isn't something I want to talk about over the phone."

Castle had already pulled out his phone. "Are we taking a quick jaunt down to Miami then? I got that covered."

Ryan waved a hand at him. "Hold your horses, Castle. We don't even know if he's still there or travelling or whatever. I put a call in to the Miami PD, asked them to track him down and let me know."

"You want us to go talk to Brodie?" Espo put in.

Beckett tucked her lower lip between her teeth as she considered this, a move Castle recognized with another pang, and then she shook her head decisively. "Not yet. We'll wait until we hear back from Miami PD about Yanavich and then decide who'll tackle whom."

"You got it, boss," Espo nodded.

On that note, they scattered to their respective desks.

Castle noted the faint frown creasing Beckett's forehead as she resumed her seat. "I meant it, you know," he offered after a moment. "If we need to fly down to Miami to talk to Yanavich, I can take care of the tickets."

She flashed him a glance, a hint of a smile hovering at the corners of her lips. "You're just looking for an excuse to go see some palm trees, aren't you?"

He felt his heart lift at her teasing, the fact that she was able to tease. "Spending a few hours on a sunny beach with palm trees? It'll be a hardship but I'll suffer through it," he promised with mock solemnity.

She rolled her eyes a little. "A true martyr."

"I know, it's very self-sacrificing of me," he nodded piously.

Again, that hint of a smile appeared at the corners of her lips but she didn't respond otherwise as she turned back to her work.

It was another couple hours before Ryan's hail to Beckett had them reconvening in the conference room.

"What have you got, Ryan?" she asked without preliminaries.

"We're in luck, Beckett, no need to go down to Miami after all. Turns out Yanavich was only in Miami for a few years. Then he moved back to New York."

Beckett straightened, if such a thing were possible given her usual ramrod-straight posture. "Where in New York?"

Ryan allowed himself a quick smile. "Miami PD didn't know and he hasn't gotten around to updating DMV with his address but it occurred to me that Yanavich is a retired cop, on a pension, so the one place that would definitely know his current address is the pension fund so I had Espo make a call to a guy he knows."

Espo took up the story, finishing, "And he found out that Yanavich moved to Brooklyn and, get this, bought that cop bar out on Fulton."

"It's a Friday so he'll definitely be at the bar tonight," Beckett stated. "Okay. Espo, you and Ryan, go talk to Brodie, see if he knows anything."

Castle had a thought. "Mention Montgomery's funeral plans, that'll be your reason for talking to him, and that should prod him into mentioning anything he knows about Montgomery."

Beckett threw him a quick, approving glance that made him feel almost bathed in warmth for a moment. "Castle has a point, that can be your cover story. Castle and I will handle Yanavich."

Espo nodded, meeting Castle's eyes for a fleeting second in acknowledgement, not to say thanks. "We're on it," he answered briskly and then he and Ryan had pivoted almost in unison and were heading out of the conference room.

Beckett met his eyes. "So Castle, can I buy you a drink?"

Castle tried to hide his delight at her easy acceptance that he would be going with her to talk to Yanavich, only matched her light tone. "Why, Detective Beckett, I thought you'd never ask."

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you for reading and reviewing. I hope everyone is managing to stay healthy in these times.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Apologies for not posting last week but I was distracted with everything going on and had a hard time writing anything but I will try to keep to a regular posting schedule going forward.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 9_

Kate wasn't sure if she could have made it through the day if Castle had not been there.

Well, okay, she knew she could have survived if she'd had to because she wouldn't have had any other option but Castle's presence made it easier, helped more than she ever would have expected. She wasn't sure she could explain how it helped but somehow, it did, not only because his ideas had been helpful but just because of his presence. Being able to glance over at him sitting in his chair, knowing he was there, on her side, supporting her.

Had he always looked so… dependable? His appearance hadn't changed so she had to assume he had and could only wonder at her own blindness for not noticing. Maybe she had been so focused on her irritation at his presence, the way he had insinuated himself into her work, that she'd been immune to the impact of his physical presence. Or maybe it was just the effect of his long absence that made the impact so much greater. Or just the fact that she was more vulnerable right now than she had been before. But whatever the reason, she couldn't deny the comfort she took just in being able to see him. He just looked so… solid, reliable. Tall and broad-shouldered as he was, he looked strong and she couldn't help but think back to the almost-hug when she left the loft the night before, the sensory memory of her body against his for that fleeting second. When she'd felt warm and somehow safe, sheltered, for just a moment.

What would it feel like to be held by him, to really have his arms around her, surrounded by his scent and his warmth and his strength? Not that she had any plans to find out but she did wonder...

But even without any physical contact, having him there had helped. It had been like… a safety net, giving her more courage to venture out onto the tightrope of her tenuous control over her emotions.

His presence had helped, made her feel not so alone. His coffee, his offers to help, had been like tape, or something, helping patch up the cracks in her façade of control, allowed her to get through the afternoon, especially after the phone call with Evelyn, without breaking down. The designs he'd drawn into the foam had been the only things making her want to smile in that entire grim afternoon.

First a safety net and now tape—she made a wry face to herself—not the most poetic of similes but she wasn't the writer, he was.

All she knew was that having him there had made her day just a little bit easier.

It really did feel just like old times, having him slide into the passenger seat of her car. She was expecting him to start fiddling with the radio controls but to her surprise, he didn't. He was behaving, um, well, not like himself. She glanced at him to see that his hands were clasped together like a choir boy's.

"It's killing you not to play with the controls for the radio, isn't it?"

She felt his glance. "I don't want you to shoot me," he shrugged, his tone light, but it occurred to her that what he meant was that he didn't want to annoy her today.

She felt a little tendril of warmth sprout in her chest. "I'll be nice for today so go for it. Within reason," she added.

"Really?" And there was the little boy again.

Her lips quirked. "You trying to make me change my mind?"

His answer was a grin that evoked a stupid flutter in her chest just from the way his eyes lit up. It was just… nice to see after he'd spent so much of the day looking solemn, his eyes so dark they looked more slate gray than blue. (She really liked his blue eyes.) And then he took her at her word, turning on the radio, adjusting the volume, and then proceeding to switch from station to station, although without as much impatience as she remembered.

She had forgotten, somehow, what a difference it made to have someone else in the passenger seat of the car, the way it seemed to change the very air in her car to have another person sharing the small space, breathing the same air.

His fiddling with the radio filled up the time until they reached the stretch of Fulton where the cop bar, called Finnegan's probably after some long-dead owner or patron, was located.

Castle glanced at her as they approached Finnegan's. "So, how are we going to do this?"

"You were the one who came up with the idea of mentioning the funeral plans. After that, we'll play it by ear." She gave him a tight-lipped attempt at a smile. "Come on, Castle, the faster we finish up here, the sooner we can really put Montgomery's past to bed."

"Right beside you, Beckett."

She had to blink to adjust to the dimness of the bar after the brightness outside but once she did so, she took a quick sweep of the place. The bar wasn't very busy, not yet, since it was barely after 5, but there were a few scattered patrons, some who she recognized immediately as retired cops, some officers in uniform probably just coming off their shifts, and a few others, both uniform and plain clothes, who she guessed had stopped in for a bite to eat before going on the evening shift. No one she knew personally, fortunately.

Then her gaze landed on the grizzled older man behind the bar. That had to be Mike Yanavich.

She caught his quick assessing glance at her and Castle, knew that he noticed her badge on her waist. His cop training still held that far, at least. He met her eyes, giving her the discreet nod of acknowledgment that served as a greeting between cops, not enough to be intrusive and allowing her to decide how to react.

Now for it. Her heart rate picked up in automatic reaction to her tension and she honestly wasn't sure what she wanted the result of this conversation to be, if she wanted Yanavich to have any information on Montgomery or not. Whatever the result, the next few minutes weren't going to be easy, not with so much hanging on it and not with how careful she was going to need to be.

She wasn't sure if Castle sensed it or not—she guessed he had because she felt the fleeting warmth from his hand at her back—and for once, for just a moment, she slowed, let her spine curve ever so slightly into the touch.

But then she straightened and his hand fell away as they approached the bar.

Yanavich was drying a few glasses as they approached and she noted the subtle signs of weakness in one leg, a slight limp, when he turned towards them. She had taken a look at his file before leaving the precinct, knew he'd been shot on the job, and stuck it out on desk duty until he reached the full 20 years of service before retiring for his disability.

Yanavich nodded at her. "Officer."

"Detective, actually, with the Twelfth Precinct," Kate corrected, softening the correction with a nod as she perched on one of the stools. She caught Yanavich's glance at Castle and added, "And this is Mr. Castle, who consults for us on occasion."

"Knew he wasn't a cop," Yanavich commented with a faint smile and nod at Castle. "Twelfth Precinct, eh, Detective. I was stationed at the Twelfth for a few years before I retired. So what can I get for you?"

Kate and Castle each ordered a beer, keeping it simple.

Yanavich turned away to get their beers and as he did so, Kate felt her phone buzz in her pocket and pulled it out to see a text message from Esposito.

_Brodie's clear. Knows nothing about Montgomery. _

"The boys?" Castle murmured.

She nodded, turning her phone towards him, and then froze entirely as he leaned into her shoulder to read the text message. She was overwhelmed by his nearness, all her senses focusing on him, the heat of his body so close to hers, the scent of him filling her nostrils (he smelled so good). She momentarily shut her eyes, almost dizzy with the sudden rush of desire.

But then she opened her eyes and Castle had straightened up, restoring the distance between them, and—most effectively of all, to quench her budding arousal—Yanavich was returning with their beers.

Yanavich placed the beers on the bar in front of them and paused. "Twelfth Precinct, you said, Detective? That means you serve under that Captain, the one who was just killed the other day, right?"

Kate stiffened and sensed Castle straightening up a little beside her, his attention spiking. "Montgomery, and yes," she confirmed cautiously.

"Sorry to hear it." Yanavich shook his head. "Hell of a thing, to have a cop gunned down like that by some lowlifes."

Her throat closed up at the words as, for a second, she heard in her mind the sound of the shots ringing out from inside the hangar, saw again Montgomery's body on the floor of the hangar. Remembered the way his blood had gotten smeared on her hands when she fell, not knelt, beside the body afterwards. Oh god.

Castle smoothly stepped in. "That's partly why we decided to stop by today. We've been trying to contact all the officers who once served under Captain Montgomery, if they want to pay their respects at the funeral. It's been scheduled for Tuesday morning, at 10."

Yanavich nodded. "I can get the word out to a few people; tonight and tomorrow will be busy so word will reach a lot of people."

"We'd appreciate it," Castle responded.

"Least I can do for a fellow cop," Yanavich shrugged. "I didn't really know Montgomery myself. He took over the Twelfth just months before I retired but I remember he made the rounds, said a few words to everyone, so we must have talked a few times." He paused, as if he'd just remembered something, and Kate tensed, sensing Castle do the same beside her. "Y'know, come to think of it, I think I've got a picture of him on the wall here."

Kate felt some of her tension loosen as Yanavich turned away to the wall behind the bar where every available space was covered with photos, no doubt of patrons, past and present. Yanavich scanned the pictures for a minute before he reached out and took one off the wall.

"Here."

Yanavich set the photo on the bar and only her training and stern self-control kept Kate from recoiling as she saw the picture. It was of Montgomery, yes, a very young-looking Captain Montgomery, grinning companionably with none other than Raglan and McCallister. Even knowing, hearing about his past with Raglan and McCallister, had not prepared Kate to see their faces together like this, the camaraderie evident in their pose and expressions. Montgomery, her Captain, her friend, alongside two cops she detested. She felt as if she had just witnessed the betrayal of it, felt the gut punch of Montgomery's confession, all over again.

This was it, the smoking gun, as it were, of the three kidnappers. The men whose actions had led to her mother's murder. She had told Montgomery she'd forgiven him—and she _had_—but the wound, the hurt, remained.

"I've read the papers, heard about what Raglan and McCallister, the other guys in this picture, did, and I remember that they trained Montgomery when he had just been made detective, showed him the ropes, but I gotta say, meeting Montgomery after he made Captain, he seemed like an upstanding guy, a good cop."

"Never seen Montgomery look so young before," Kate commented, schooling her tone into blandness as if she'd barely noted Yanavich's words. "Mind if we take this picture?"

"Well…" Yanavich hesitated, not able to find a reason to refuse but also not seeing a reason to agree and reluctant to do so.

"Give everyone another round on me to drink a toast to Captain Montgomery's memory," Castle interceded, pulling out his wallet and tossing a $100 bill onto the bar. He gave a credible impression of carelessness, as if he had barely noticed or been aware of the little interplay about the picture, had just had the thought about a toast to Montgomery.

The offer, or perhaps more accurately, the sight of the money softened Yanavich's demeanor, helped by the fact that Castle had deliberately pitched his voice just a shade louder than usual so the other patrons at the bar heard and cheered.

And that was that. Everyone present got another round of drinks, raising their glasses in a messy toast "to Captain Montgomery," and when she and Castle walked out of Finnegan's a short time later, it was with the old picture of Montgomery, Raglan, and McCallister safely tucked into Castle's jacket pocket.

They both released their breaths when they regained the privacy of her car, sitting back in their seats.

After a moment, Castle slanted a half-smile at her. "Guess we were both a little tense, huh?"

Kate didn't respond in words to this clearly rhetorical observation but returned his half-smile. After another beat, she pulled out her phone to send a text to the boys. _Yanavich had a picture. We have it now. _

"What do you want to do with the picture?" Castle asked.

"Show it to the boys first. They've been in on everything about this case from the beginning and I'm not about to start hiding anything from them now."

"And after that?"

She made a small face. "I haven't decided that yet." It went against the grain, her instincts and her training, to destroy evidence but at the same time, the entire purpose of following the trail to this picture had been in order to protect Montgomery's memory, his legacy, and that was best done by getting rid of the evidence.

He nodded, apparently accepting or understanding that.

She started her car and they set off to return to the precinct. The drive back was silent this time, probably because they were both thinking about Montgomery, about the mistakes he'd made and how he'd atoned for them.

"Sorry," he murmured after a while.

She glanced at him. "For what?"

"Seeing that picture had to be hard for you. Visual evidence of how well Montgomery knew Raglan."

Her hands tightened their grip on the steering wheel for a moment. "It was but you haven't done anything to apologize for." She paused. "I should be thanking you."

It was his turn to glance at her. "For what?"

Everything. "Today, what you did this afternoon and in the bar," she clarified. "Thank you. You helped." It was not eloquent, not nearly enough to express all she felt. Not for the first time, she hated her own hamstrung tongue. She didn't talk about herself easily, not about the things that really mattered. She never had. It was partly self-preservation, yes, but at times, like this, it bothered her and she wished she had more skill with words.

"Buying a round for people to toast Captain Montgomery was nothing. I would have done it anyway."

"No, Castle," she blurted out with rather more force than she intended. She didn't want him to minimize what he'd done, not right now. (It occurred to her, crazily, that she might actually miss his cocky demeanor. He was more cautious with her now, more serious and, yes, responsible. But she liked the playful, boyish, even impulsive side of him too, the way he'd been when they first met. She'd grown to appreciate his playfulness after he'd left and now, especially, she appreciated the humor and levity he brought to things.)

"Not just buying the round, although I appreciate that. It made the difference in Yanavich allowing us to take the picture. But just… everything, being here today. You helped." Her throat was starting to get tight again, this kind of emotional candor not coming easily for her. She pushed forward. She trusted him and after everything, he needed—he deserved—to know. "I don't know if I could have made it through the day without you."

"Yes, you could have," he contradicted gently but he turned his head to give her a faint smile.

"Maybe but it would have been harder."

"A—" he broke off, paused, and then finished, with an almost imperceptible change in tone, "anytime."

She had the distinct impression he'd started out to say something different but there was no chance to think about it further as they'd reached the precinct and she had to focus again on work.

The boys were, as she'd expected, already back at their desks when she and Castle walked into the bullpen and they immediately stood up and veered into the conference room when they spotted her entrance.

"Yanavich had a picture?" Espo asked first. "A picture of what?"

Kate met Castle's eyes and he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out the picture and putting it down on the table for them all to see.

Kate watched as Espo's expression stiffened and in anyone else, she would have called it a flinch before he averted his eyes, scowling at the window. Yeah, she could understand that; she had no desire to look at the picture again either.

Ryan winced and clenched his fist before he, too, looked away.

"Put it away," he said harshly, sounding unlike himself.

Castle glanced at Beckett and then tucked the picture back into his pocket.

There was a moment of silence that Espo broke. "Now what?"

"This doesn't really change anything," Kate answered carefully. There was no need to talk about the visceral sense of betrayal at seeing visual evidence of how chummy Montgomery had been with Raglan and McCallister. It might feel worse, seeing it with their own eyes, but the reality hadn't changed. "What Montgomery did still stays between us. We've just… tied up the last loose strings."

Ryan released a breath. "For Evelyn and the kids," he stated quietly.

Because, of course, it was true. They were doing this more for Evelyn and the kids than even for Montgomery's legacy. They owed a duty to the living, the innocent, who didn't deserve to lose everything as they would if anything about Montgomery's past came out.

Espo nodded jerkily in acknowledgment. "Right. I've seen what happened to Carol and little Timmy. That isn't going to happen again, to Evelyn and the Captain's kids, not on my watch."

They all paused again, as if it was just now sinking in that now, it really was over. There was nothing more for them to actively do about this case, her mother's case. Not at the moment. They had no more leads to chase. Montgomery's memory was protected, as much as they could, and now they had only his funeral to get through, and then they would have to move forward.

She thought about the toast Castle had arranged in Montgomery's memory back at Finnegan's. "Thanks for looking into this. You guys wanna go get a drink, maybe grab dinner?" she found herself suggesting.

Ryan made a rueful face. "I think I'll take a rain check on that, Beckett. I feel like I haven't seen Jenny in weeks."

Kate forced a small smile. "Sure. Go and say hi to Jenny for me."

Ryan briefly clapped Castle's shoulder as he left the room and Kate turned to Espo but he, too, made an apologetic face. "Sorry, Beckett, but I'm beat. Think I'm gonna head out too. See you tomorrow." Something about his expression made Kate think that what he intended was to go see Lanie first, maybe just for the physical release and oblivion, but still. Lanie might be insisting that it was mostly a friends-with-benefits thing with her and Espo but Kate had her doubts about that.

Espo followed Ryan out of the room and Kate felt a peculiar sense of loneliness as she watched both the boys leave. The reminder that both of them had personal lives, relationships, outside of work. It wasn't as if she hadn't known before—of course she had—but the contrast hadn't seemed so stark before. She would go home to a solitary, empty apartment and while she normally didn't mind it, even told herself she liked it that way, today, at this moment, the idea of going home to another dinner of solitary takeout seemed too dreary. Maybe it was just the way loss and grief made people not want to be alone but whatever it was, the idea of returning to her apartment now seemed too… cold.

She turned to Castle, fully expecting him to make his excuses too. He, who had a family to go home to, his warm, welcoming home. "Do you need to get home for dinner with Alexis?"

He pulled a face of mock woe. "Alas, no, my family has deserted me for the evening. Alexis has a date tonight and my mother also has plans, into which I did not inquire more deeply." His tone was light, his old-fashioned phrasing humorous. He widened his eyes at her. "Please, Beckett, save me from being one of those sad people eating alone at a restaurant on a Friday night."

Her heart fluttered ridiculously in her chest, not at his words, but the way he'd deliberately turned the invitation around, made it seem as if she would be doing him a favor by keeping him company and not the other way around. It was so… like him, wasn't it?

But then, stupidly, she found herself asking, "You don't have a date yourself?" Immediately afterwards, she could have bitten off her own tongue. Too late now.

An expression she couldn't read flashed across his face before he smoothed it out, answering easily, "Nope, I'm footloose and fancy-free."

He wasn't seeing anyone. She hadn't really thought he was dating anyone; there hadn't been any mentions of him with anyone else in Page Six, not since the mention of him and Gina a couple months ago. But even so, the assurance still made her heart lift, feel buoyant with a ridiculous flutter of hope.

"Oh." She bit her lip and then, before she could think better of it or even realized she was going to, the words fell out of her mouth. "What about Gina?"

He blinked. "Gina? What about her?"

"I, um, saw the Page Six mention of you having dinner with her a couple months ago."

He wrinkled his nose. "You mean, back in February? That was a business dinner. Well, Gina called it a business dinner; I called it a nagging dinner since that was all she did."

She tried to tamp down on the smile threatening to break free. She didn't even know why she cared that he hadn't actually been on a date with his ex-wife. It wasn't as if she had any claims on him and certainly not back then. "A nagging dinner? What was she nagging you about?"

"My lack of ideas for my next book, what else? Not that Gina ever needs much of a reason to nag me."

"Oh. I thought you and Gina were getting along better. She went with you to the Hamptons last summer, didn't she?"

One of his trademark cocky smirks quirked his lips. "Why, Detective, have you been keeping tabs on me in the press?"

"No more than anyone would notice mentions of someone they know in the press but unlike you, I don't know a lot of celebrities so you tend to stand out," she drawled, fighting back a blush.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he pretended to preen.

"You would," she shot back dryly, sternly swallowing the bubble of laughter that wanted to escape.

"So, dinner?" he deflected.

"Sure, why not?" she agreed blandly, falling in with his (sweet) pretense of having been the one to suggest it. (Since when did she think of Castle as being sweet?)

He offered his arm in an exaggerated courtly gesture and after a brief hesitation—they didn't touch often, or at least, they hadn't before—she took it, linking her arm with his, a small smile playing around her lips and a silly flutter in her chest.

Not that this was a date or anything. Just a dinner of two friends, catching up. That was all. Really.

They were in her car, heading towards the restaurant Castle had suggested which he claimed had some of the best Italian food in the city. Kate hadn't thought of a venue when she'd made her impulsive invitation so she agreed.

Castle was once again fiddling with the radio but then he paused, one hand outstretched. "Oh, I meant to ask, what did Espo mean earlier, when he said he saw what happened to Carol and… Timmy, was it? Who are Carol and Timmy?"

"Carol and Timmy are Espo's former partner's family, his wife and son," she answered.

"What happened to them?" He stopped and she saw the sudden apprehension cross his expression, unsurprisingly, considering the things they tended to see every day. "Oh no, are they—"

"They're fine," she interrupted quickly. "What Espo was talking about was seeing what happened to them after his former partner was presumed to be dead."

"Presumed to be? This is sounding juicy already."

Of course, he would need the whole story. "It's a long story," she warned.

"I love long stories."

She couldn't help her snort. "Well, it started a few years back when Espo was an officer with the 54th, in the organized crime unit. He and his partner, Ike Thornton, were trying to bring down a crime boss, Victor Racine, who had proven to be untouchable."

"Victor Racine, I know that name," Castle interjected. "He was just arrested last year, right? I read about it in the paper. That was one of your cases?"

"Yes. As I was saying, Espo and his partner were looking into Racine but he always seemed to be one step ahead of them—"

"So he had someone on the inside," Castle interrupted. "Right? Mob boss paying off a snitch in the police force, that's smart business."

"You know, I think this story would go faster if you didn't keep interrupting," she told him dryly.

"Sorry, sorry, shutting up now." He mimed zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key and she swallowed down the bubble of laughter in her chest. Ridiculous man.

"Rumors were going around the 54th about Racine having a snitch on the force and IA was brought in to investigate and started looking into Espo's partner, Thornton. Then Thornton disappeared and his car was found by the dock, completely torn apart, so he was presumed to be dead." She paused. "What Espo meant was what happened to Carol and Timmy afterwards because Thornton died as a suspect in an IA investigation, so they didn't get a penny of his pension. Carol was left a single mom, raising her son alone without the help of his pension. You can imagine, it wouldn't have been easy."

"No," he agreed soberly. "I hadn't even thought of that, that Evelyn and the kids would lose Montgomery's pension if anything about Montgomery's past came out."

"Yeah, they would," she confirmed. "The city wouldn't pay a red cent if they found out about any misconduct on the job. Raglan and McCallister are dead and had no families and I don't care about them anyway but Evelyn and the kids don't deserve that."

"No," he agreed quietly. "Were Carol and Timmy okay?"

"They survived but Carol, especially, didn't have an easy time of it. Espo didn't say and I wouldn't ask but I suspect he helped them out when he could. I know he stayed in their lives, looking out for Timmy. Timmy plays baseball and Espo would go to his games whenever he could, occasionally had to ask for the afternoon or evening off for that." Kate guessed that Espo had used those occasions as excuses to take both Carol and Timmy out for a meal that he would pay for, deliberately ordering too much food so they would have leftovers to take home.

There was a brief pause and then Castle asked, "So what happened last year, to get Victor Racine arrested finally?"

"We got a body, a guy who was an associate of Racine's and who'd been tortured, and found prints on his eyelids that were a match to Ike Thornton."

Castle let out a gleeful crow. "You had a case that involved a guy who came back from the dead? Oh, that's awesome!"

She snorted. Trust Castle to put it like that. "You're missing the salient point that Thornton was only _presumed_ dead but he wasn't actually dead."

Predictably, her logic had no discernible effect on Castle. "Still, he was declared dead and he came back from the dead!"

The man was irrepressible. But she found she couldn't muster up any irritation at it either. And she had to admit, if only to herself, that she wouldn't really want him to change, become more logical. He just made things more… fun. And she really had missed him.

She tucked the admission, the knowledge, away in the back of her mind and spent the rest of the drive to the restaurant giving Castle a brief summary of the case and how it had led to Ike Thornton's redemption and reunion with his family.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you for reading and reviewing. Stay well, everyone!


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Castle and Beckett's dinner that is not a date. Enjoy.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 10_

Kate had briefly wondered what kind of restaurant Castle had chosen. She wasn't exactly dressed for some fancy dinner and she knew that Castle was used to fancy dinners in glitzy, expensive restaurants. Was he planning to go to the sort of fancy place he was used to, oblivious to whether she would look and feel supremely out of place? She was playing a mental game of sorts, trying to guess which of the several restaurants within sight could be their destination, her eye lighting on the sign for one restaurant which, judging by the sign and the attire of the handful of customers heading inside, probably had entrees that cost her weekly salary. She felt a flicker of nerves as she got out of her car.

But then Castle fell into step beside her. "We're heading to Mirabelli's, across the street," he told her, gesturing with one hand. "Alexis and I have been going there for years."

Kate spotted the sign for Mirabelli's and some of her tension loosened inside her because the sign itself was almost nondescript, not at all flashy. And when they arrived at the restaurant, her cautious optimism was more than rewarded because Mirabelli's was a small, family-owned place, casual and welcoming.

They were greeted by a waiter and led to one of only a couple remaining tables. Castle intercepted the waiter as he was about to leave. "Oh, and can you mention to Gianni that Ricky Castle is here? I'm a friend of his."

Kate raised her eyebrows a little at Castle. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard Castle refer to himself as 'Ricky' before. "Ricky?"

Castle shrugged, adopting a sheepish expression that had him looking more like an adorable (wait, what?) little boy than any grown man should be able to look. "It's what Gianni always calls me."

As if on cue, a plump, middle-aged man came bustling through the double doors in the back, his face already lit up with a beaming smile as he approached them. "Ricky, you finally decided to show your face again, eh?" The man shook Castle's hand, clapping his other hand on Castle's shoulder. "And how are you?"

Castle smiled. "You know me, Gianni, living the easy life," he quipped. "You're looking good."

"And where is the little princess?" Gianni asked. "Will she be joining you?"

Castle pulled a sad face. "Not so little and no, she won't. Alexis actually has a date tonight."

Gianni clicked his tongue. "Ah, I still cannot believe little Alexis is old enough to date."

"You and me both," Castle agreed.

Gianni turned to Kate. "And you must be Ricky's girlfriend, yes?"

Kate felt herself flushing. What was it with everyone assuming she and Castle were together?

Before she could respond, Castle quickly jumped in. "No, no, we're just friends. Gianni, Detective Kate Beckett."

"A detective?" Gianni's eyes widened but he shook Kate's hand with enthusiasm. "Well, any friend of Ricky's is welcome here."

"Thank you. It's nice to meet you," Kate smiled. In spite of her flusterment, it was hard not to respond to the unaffected warmth of the greeting.

"Ricky!" They all turned towards the short, plump, middle-aged woman who came bustling through the double doors, holding a basket of breadsticks which she deposited on the table before tugging Castle into a hug and a kiss on each cheek, in European fashion.

"Maria, it's great to see you," Castle greeted, easily stooping into the woman's embrace. It was… a strangely endearing sight, because he was taller than Maria by a full head and shoulders, to see the tall man bend down to greet the little older woman.

"Maria, this is my friend, Detective Kate Beckett."

Kate smiled and held out her hand but Maria only used it to pull Kate into a quick hug, also dropping a quick kiss on Kate's cheek.

"A detective, well, you must be good at keeping our Ricky here out of trouble."

"I do not get into trouble," Castle pretended to protest.

Maria ignored him. "And what's this I hear about little Alexis having a boyfriend?"

Castle made another face. "It's true, she does have a boyfriend and she's even decided where she wants to go for college too."

"Ah, these kids, they grow up too fast, right, Ricky? But that is a subject for another time. Tonight, you are here to eat." She shooed them into sitting down, Gianni gallantly pulling the chair out for Kate, and opened the menus in front of them, assuring them a server would be right with them.

Maria and Gianni bustled away, leaving Kate to raise her eyebrows at Castle. "You weren't kidding when you said you and Alexis have been coming here for years. 'The little princess?'"

Castle laughed. "Gianni and Maria are probably the only people on the planet who can still get away with calling Alexis that. They've known us since Alexis was around 5 and I think Alexis allows them to keep calling her 'princess' because no one else she knows is ever around to hear it."

She could understand that. Her own dad on occasion used pet names for her for which Kate would maim anyone else. She tried not to notice the way Castle's expression and voice had softened the way it always did when he spoke about Alexis, his dad look, bending over the menu instead. She didn't want to be thinking about how cute he was. (Wait, what? No, no, he was not cute.)

But really, the more time she spent with Castle, the harder it was to resist him. How was she not supposed to like him when he showed her this side of him, the side of him who was so at home in a casual, family-owned restaurant and not some fancy celebrity haunt, the side of him who made such friends with the owners as to be greeted like family? It was just so… likable, so far removed from the cocky jackass celebrity he had so often acted like before. And the more she saw of him now, the more it became clear that whatever else, the cocky jackass celebrity act was just that, an act, a part he played, probably for the publicity it garnered, but it wasn't the real man at all.

They didn't talk for the next few minutes as they perused the menus and ordered their food.

After the server had left, Kate landed on a neutral and therefore safe topic. "How is the _Heat Wave_ movie going?"

"Fine as far as I know. Apparently, they're running behind schedule on filming at the moment because Natalie Rhodes is having a 'health issue,'" he answered, making air quotes with his fingers. He glanced around and then leaned forward with a ridiculously furtive air, like some cartoon character, "Which is Hollywood-speak for being in rehab," he added in an exaggerated whisper.

She couldn't help a brief, not entirely kind, chuckle. "Oh really? I hadn't heard that Natalie Rhodes had a substance abuse problem."

"In Hollywood, I think it's almost more newsworthy if you don't have a substance abuse problem."

"Fair point," she conceded. "So they're having to film without their Nikki Heat for a few weeks?"

"Yeah, which must be an interesting challenge, to say the least." He made a face. "Fortunately, it's not my problem."

"Mm, and it'll give them a bit of a break from hearing all about Natalie's 'method' acting," Kate offered as an aside.

The beginnings of a smirk tugged at the corners of Castle's lips. "I detect a bit of snark in that comment. I take it you weren't a fan of Natalie's when she was shadowing you?"

Kate snorted in spite of herself, the memories of those few days months ago returning to her. "You could say that. And I'd thought you were annoying as a shadow."

"Hey!" he threw her a mock scowl and she smirked at him.

"Settle down, Castle. I thought you were annoying but compared to Natalie Rhodes, you were almost a saint."

"That's better. I like being compared to a saint," he pretended to preen.

"Only compared to Natalie Rhodes and that's a low bar," she noted. "As for Natalie, at first she wasn't so bad when she was just taking notes of things I said. But then, she started imitating my every move and then, do you know what she did? She ordered a wig to match my hairstyle almost exactly and not just that, she also got an outfit that looked identical to one I had worn the day before and she had it delivered to the precinct so she could reappear looking like some sort of creepy clone of me."

A smirk played around his mouth at the image his imagination was, no doubt, conjuring up.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Shut up, Castle, it's not funny."

He smoothed his expression into one of preternatural blandness. "You know what they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"Not this kind of imitation," she retorted darkly. "It was creepy. So not only did she start to appear almost exactly like me, she started stepping in for me like she was trying to replace me, answering questions about the case and accepting files that were being handed to _me_. Even when I was thinking, it was like I could feel her trying to get into my head like some kind of brain-eating parasite from one of her movies."

"Why, Beckett, that's a comparison that sounds positively Castle-esque! I'm impressed." He nodded sagely. "You have learned well."

"Great, now I know I've hit rock bottom," she returned dryly, sternly smothering the urge to laugh and the ridiculous curl of pleasure at his praise. Not helped by the realization that she had made the hyperbolic comparison partly because she'd known he would appreciate it.

He threw her a mock scowl. "Hey, no need to be mean now."

"That's enough of my impression of Natalie Rhodes. What did you think of her?" Kate asked, telling herself she was only asking out of simple curiosity and not because she wanted to find out if Castle had slept with Natalie Rhodes. She didn't care. It was none of her business, anyway. Never mind the way Natalie had followed up her oh-so-casual mention of the studio's having arranged for her to have dinner with Castle one evening with her intention to sleep with Castle in the name of character research. Yeah, research, Kate had mentally snorted.

"I suppose she's not a bad actress but, in person…" he wrinkled his nose in an expression that spoke volumes.

Kate told herself she was absolutely not feeling pleased that Castle had apparently not liked Natalie either. So he hadn't slept with Natalie. Not that she cared. "Well, she's certainly a beautiful woman," she offered, abruptly feeling much more in charity with Natalie.

"Sure, if you like that in a woman."

"What, the blonde, sexy, voluptuous look? Yeah, I can't imagine what a man would see in her," Kate retorted dryly. Her curiosity spiked because Castle's response indicated more than a little annoyance. "What did she do, praise Patterson's books?" she teased.

"Worse. She told me she hadn't even read _Heat Wave_ and she didn't plan to either!" he announced in a tone only two degrees removed from one appropriate for if Natalie Rhodes had a predilection for murdering children.

"Oh." She couldn't quite hold back a brief laugh, quickly swallowed. "Clearly a heinous crime."

"She's starring in a movie adaptation of a book and she hadn't read the book it was based on!" Castle protested. "Said she didn't want to mess with her interpretation of the script or some such nonsense because the script apparently made a lot of changes."

Well, that certainly wasn't going to please Castle as the author. "Wow, that must have hurt, having to be polite to someone who refused to read your book."

"Thank you, yes, it did," he answered with mock solemnity, ignoring the edge of sarcasm in her tone. "Anyway, it wasn't just that," he went on with a change of tone. "She also just seemed really self-absorbed, only wanted to talk about herself, about how 'method' she is in preparing for roles, how into her characters she tries to get doing research…"

"An actress who's self-absorbed, shocking," she drawled.

"She wouldn't even tell me anything about—" he broke off abruptly, looking self-conscious, his cheeks going interestingly pink.

"Wouldn't tell you anything about what?" she prompted.

"Nothing, nothing, just some Hollywood gossip," he deflected and was further saved by the arrival of their food which inevitably put a pause on their conversation.

Well, that was intriguing. She wondered what Castle had been asking Natalie about, especially since he now seemed to be avoiding looking at her but was focused entirely on stirring his pasta, the tips of his ears appearing pink with self-consciousness.

A suspicion—a crazy suspicion—darted into her mind and refused to leave. Had he—could he have—been asking Natalie about _her_? He would have known that Natalie was temporarily shadowing Kate and the team and, well, he appeared to be so discomfited by having almost blurted it out… And he had apparently been asking Captain Montgomery and, she guessed, Ryan about her whenever they spoke. Was it such a crazy suspicion? Was she being supremely self-centered even to wonder?

And of course, she couldn't possibly ask. She shoved the thought aside, grasped for a change of subject. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Her reaction to witnessing the drama with Ryan and Jenny was also self-absorbed."

That made Castle look up at her, open confusion on his face. "What? What drama with Ryan and Jenny?"

"Oh, right, I forgot you wouldn't have heard about it." Naturally, Ryan wouldn't be advertising the misunderstanding that had almost derailed his plan to propose to Jenny.

"What happened? I heard when Ryan and Jenny got engaged but Ryan didn't mention any drama."

Kate made a small face. "It was all a misunderstanding. It turned out that Natalie Rhodes was on Ryan's Freebie Five list."

Castle gave a crack of laughter. "No, really? He must've been thrilled when she showed up then."

Kate allowed herself a brief smile. "He stumbled over his words and was a little star-struck, yeah." It had been funny, then. "Not that anything happened between them, obviously."

"Obviously. Ryan's not the type."

"No," she agreed. "But anyway, Ryan didn't mention working with Natalie Rhodes to Jenny and then he told her he was going to be out that evening playing darts with Esposito when, in fact, he'd gone to visit Jenny's parents in the suburbs to ask for their blessing. And then of course, Jenny stopped by the precinct the next morning because Ryan forgot something and happened to ask Espo how the darts game went."

"Uh oh."

"You can say that again. Jenny found out about Ryan's lie and about Natalie Rhodes being around at the same time."

"And she put two and two together to make five," Castle finished.

Kate made a wry face. "You can say that but in fairness to her, the circumstantial evidence was pretty damning. And you know how guilty Ryan looks when he's caught out." Ryan was a very good cop but when he was caught in any sort of lie, it was like the Catholic schoolboy he'd once been came out and made him look guilty of every sin in the book.

A grin flashed across Castle's face at this. And she felt an absurd flutter in her chest in reaction. (Damn it, no, she should not be reacting like a schoolgirl with a crush, feeling so pleased to have made him smile.)

"So Jenny ran out of the precinct in tears, creating something of a scene, but Natalie's only comment was to wonder what number she was on Ryan's Freebie Five list."

Castle snorted. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Well, clearly, it ended well, Natalie Rhodes notwithstanding, since Ryan and Jenny did get engaged."

"Yeah. Jenny came back to the precinct later that day, once she'd calmed down, and told Ryan she trusted him and he confessed everything and got down on one knee right there in the bullpen." She allowed herself a rather misty smile, since they weren't in the precinct and no other cops were around. "It was really sweet."

"Very nice. Yeah, I can see what Ryan meant when he said the time just seemed right."

"What, when did he say that?"

"Oh, well, Ryan actually called me up about a week before he and Jenny got engaged." He made a wry, self-deprecating face. "My past may not be a sterling example of matrimony but I have survived the proposal gauntlet so he wanted to pick my brain about it. I suggested sky-writing or a helicopter ride, but Ryan vetoed those because he's boring."

Kate rolled her eyes. "No, it's because Ryan has some sense."

"Potato, po-tah-to," he shrugged off airily. "Instead, he asked me to make reservations for a nice dinner for them."

By which he meant, Kate guessed, that Castle had pulled strings to get Ryan a table at one of the exclusive restaurants where it was impossible to get a reservation without connections.

"But then Ryan called me up and told me he and Jenny had just gotten engaged, saying the moment just felt right so he asked and she said yes."

"So they went to their fancy dinner the next day to celebrate their engagement?"

"It's what I suggested but as it turned out, a body dropped that day so Ryan couldn't go anyway so instead, I changed the reservation so that was where he and Jenny went for Valentine's Day."

She smiled at that. Castle really was a good friend.

After their exchange of stories, they each turned their attention to their food and they ate in a comfortable silence for a while, interrupted only by idle comments on the food, which was, as Castle had promised, very good.

"I read your book, the latest one," she commented as she finished eating.

"Oh." Something she couldn't read flickered across his expression as he straightened. "What, uh, did you think of it?" He sounded tentative, not at all like the cocky celebrity, and again it occurred to her that when it came to the important things, he wasn't cocky. And her opinion about his book was clearly one of those things.

_Was it for me_ hovered on the tip of her tongue. Had he really written the book as an apology to her? She thought so but she couldn't be sure; it could just be a matter of her reading things into it since the very act of reading was inevitably colored by the lens of a reader's own experiences. But she couldn't ask that. "It was interesting," she temporized.

"Oh." He didn't slump or physically react in any way and his tone didn't reveal much either but somehow, just the single syllable spoke of something like disappointment and maybe some hurt.

She belatedly realized that he'd taken her comment as a form of damning with faint praise. That wasn't what she'd meant. Outright praise wasn't like her but after everything, she didn't want to hurt him. "I thought it was well-done, a solid mystery with engaging characters. I liked it."

"Really?" His expression lit up with a smile, his eyes becoming remarkably blue and so bright. Just a few words from her and he looked as if he'd been awarded a Nobel Prize. Her opinion really was important to him.

It was amazing and humbling and… frightening too. It was yet another sign of how much he cared and that shouldn't have been so terrifying but it really was. Because if she knew anything, it was that she wasn't very good at letting someone, anyone, care about her, had trained herself not to expect or want to be cared about. She wasn't good at relationships, wasn't sure she had it in her to have a real relationship. Her relationship with Will was the longest she'd had and even he had left her.

But now, there was Castle and it was clear just how much he cared, just how much he would do for her. And it was becoming harder to deny that if she wanted it, him, she could have him, have a relationship with Castle. (_If…_)

She was nervous about trusting him again, about how quickly he'd worked his way past any of her defenses. Felt a flare of apprehension when she thought about how much she had already softened, started to let him in… She didn't like being vulnerable, not to him or to anyone. It was partly why she'd reacted so badly to Castle digging into her mom's case (she had reacted badly, she admitted) because she'd only just started to like having him around, started to think they could be friends, that she could trust him—and then it had all been wrecked, any softer feelings towards Castle sharply nipped in the bud.

But now he was back and making it harder and her not to like him again—and she had missed him, more than she'd ever admitted or realized.

It was all too much and she abruptly felt the need to return to their usual repartee. "I mean, it wasn't as good as Patterson's latest but it was one of your better efforts."

"Better efforts," he huffed. "I think you meant to say it was a tour de force, a work of awe-inspiring genius."

She relaxed. This was the Castle she could handle. "Uh huh. You're not exactly Shakespeare or even Wilkie Collins or Agatha Christie."

He gave her an exaggerated pout. "You know, I think I liked you better when you were talking about how much you liked the book."

"I ran out of nice things to say. Try your fan club," she deadpanned.

He made a face at her but then sobered. "I hoped you'd read it but I wasn't sure you would after, well, everything."

He really had written the book for her, an entire book just to apologize to her.

She felt a stab of regret, no, guilt, for not responding to his messages, not contacting him earlier.

But really, she told herself, how could she have known that he still cared so much? She'd seen him out and about on Page Six and he was Richard Castle, celebrity.

It was true but it didn't entirely eradicate the regret either. And she abruptly had to give him more. "I would hate to break my streak since I've read all your other books," she tried to sound light but knew he would recognize the admission for what it was.

He did, surprise and something almost like awe flickering across his expression, even as he matched her light tone. "Well, it is important not to break your streak."

"I thought so. And I am a fan, of the genre," she added. "I've read all of Patterson's and Connelly's books too." She left out the fact that she normally didn't reread books except for Castle's.

He faked horror, falling back and clutching his chest histrionically. "You wound me, Detective."

"Being silly as usual, I see, Ricky." Gianni appeared at this opportune moment and Castle straightened up so fast Kate couldn't help but laugh. "I wanted to see how your food was," Gianni turned to Kate.

"Oh, it was delicious, thank you," she assured him.

"Good, good," Gianni beamed. "Now, please say you'll be staying for dessert?"

Kate hesitated and Castle glanced at her. "The tiramisu here is great and you really ought to try it."

"Well, how can I say no to that? I do like tiramisu," she gave in. When had it become so hard to say no to Castle, to his pleading blue eyes?

"Wonderful! Tiramisu, it is," Gianni declared cheerfully and bustled away, taking their cleared plates with him.

Once Gianni left, Castle returned to the subject of his books, volubly bemoaning his mother's habit of hunting up negative reviews about his books and reading choice excerpts from them to him in order to keep his ego in check while Kate settled for the occasional teasing interjection. But inwardly, she felt liking and warmth blossoming inside her because she could read between the lines of Castle's words to see just how much he loved and indulged Martha. There was something so… endearing about Castle and the way he treated his family.

Gianni himself delivered two orders of tiramisu to their table in short order, which certainly looked delicious, and made it easier for Kate to give in to Castle's urging to try it.

And ooh, he was right, it was amazing, the perfect combination of biscuits and cream that all but melted on her tongue, the whole thing suffused with the taste of coffee. Her eyelids fluttered closed involuntarily as she savored the decadent dessert. This might be her new favorite thing.

"Oh, this is delicious," she exclaimed incautiously, quickly licking off a small dollop of cream that lingered on the corner of her lips and glancing up with a smile that slowly faded as she took in the way he was watching her.

His eyes had gone dark, midnight blue, lust painted all over his face, as his eyes flickered down to her mouth.

Oh. Oohh. He really wanted her, she thought fuzzily, his desire an almost tangible thing making the very air between them seem to thicken. Her mouth went dry, her lungs forgot how to function for a moment.

And then he blinked and abruptly averted his eyes, taking a gulp of his water before turning his attention to his own tiramisu.

Her eyes were ensnared by the sight of his lips closing around his fork—he had a beautiful mouth, she thought stupidly. And it was her turn to blink and yank her eyes away to stare somewhat blindly down at the tiramisu that somehow seemed less interesting to her now.

What was happening? She tried to cudgel her brain back into something approaching working order. It wasn't as if it was news to her that Castle was attracted to her—or even that she was attracted to him. The fact of her attraction to him wasn't new but what was disconcerting was the sheer strength of it, the way her entire body seemed to go up in a wash of heat, everything inside her reacting to him in a way she was not used to feeling. She was hardly a stranger to physical attraction but this level of it was something unfamiliar, to react so strongly to a mere look. Castle wasn't even touching her in any way.

She wasn't sure she liked it, reacting so strongly, feeling so out of her depth, out of control.

She made an effort to shove aside any inconvenient, overwhelming physical reactions and sternly focused on her dessert, resuming eating the tiramisu.

Strangely, or perhaps not, trying to focus on something else reminded her that there was one thing left unsettled—and it was a subject that would definitely guarantee a distraction and the death of anything like desire.

"Castle," she began abruptly.

He looked up. "Hmm?"

"The picture of Montgomery, Raglan, and McAllister—"

He blinked, his expression instantly sobering, reaching with his free hand for his jacket pocket. "I have it. You should keep it though."

"No," she blurted out with more emphasis than she'd intended. She never wanted to see the picture again but that wasn't the point. She lowered her voice, not that anyone around was likely to notice or have any idea what they were talking about. "You keep the picture and decide what to do with it." She hadn't consciously been thinking about the picture over dinner or decided what to do with it until then but somehow, the words emerged from her mouth, the decision apparently made without her consciously realizing it. Maybe it was the cumulative effect of spending the day with him, all the ways Castle had proven over and over again how much he cared about her.

His eyes flared with something like shock. "But Beckett… are you sure?"

"Montgomery trusted you," she nodded, holding his eyes. "And so do I."

"Beckett…"

"You keep it, Castle," she reiterated. She did trust him.

Slowly, after a long moment, he nodded. "I will." It sounded like a vow and she knew he meant it.

And that was it. They finished their desserts in silence, bickered a little over who would get the bill until he (somewhat reluctantly) agreed to split it, and passed the drive until she dropped him off at the loft in inconsequential patter. But somehow she felt as if something had changed, shifted, between them. Indefinably, perhaps, but still a change.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you for reading. Stay well, everyone!


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Apologies for the wait for updating this but without further ado, here's the next chapter.

**Nothing Los**

_Chapter 11_

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and birds were chirping—not that Castle could actually hear any birds in the concrete and steel jungle of Manhattan but he was sure they were out there. It was spring, after all, and it was shaping up to be a gorgeous day.

Yeah, it was possible he was a little drunk on hope. And love, couldn't forget that.

He couldn't have explained it to anyone else and even to him, when he put it into words, it sounded rather pitiful, shaky grounds for the surge of optimism he was feeling. But this was Beckett, she who did not share or let people in, who did not trust easily, and yesterday, she had done both, let him in (to an extent) and said in so many words that she trusted him and proven it too.

She had admitted that she'd read all his books. He might have suspected as much (almost no one who'd read Hell _Hath No Fury_ and _Death of a Prom Queen_ would not have read his other, more popular books) but he would never have expected her to make such an admission to him.

But more important than that, what had really made him feel as if he could practically float into the loft yesterday had been her telling him he could decide what to do with the picture of Montgomery, Raglan, and McAllister. The picture that was the closest thing to a smoking gun they were likely to find about Montgomery's role in the kidnapping scheme. Raglan and McAllister's part in it was publicly known, thanks to McAllister's conviction and imprisonment. Castle knew that the NYPD had played down any knowledge of a third conspirator, making only bland statements about the "alleged existence" of a third conspirator who was at large, but Castle had enough experience in PR, to say nothing of conspiracies, to know that such caution tended not to be very effective when it came to conspiracy theories so the idea that there was a "third cop" out there was hardly a secret.

And Beckett had entrusted the picture to him. She trusted him (and she'd said so). Trusted him not only to keep his silence about Montgomery's past but trusted his judgment in deciding what to do with the picture. (The picture was, at the moment, tucked in the same envelope as the letter Roy had left for him and hidden at the very back of his safe. A temporary measure until he decided what to do with the picture.)

He had to decide because Beckett had left the decision to him. That was what he kept returning to. Beckett was nothing if not controlled and a bit controlling, maybe a little bit of a control freak—oh, okay, fine, she was definitely a control freak, but in a good way! He liked that about her—or if not liked, understood it.

And Beckett trusted _him, _with her mentor's legacy. And with Kate Beckett, the force of trust could no further go. Or at least, could go only very little further.

Besides, he could have sworn he'd seen something in her eyes, in her smile, something that made his hopeful heart bound in his chest. Something soft and warm, something that looked like more than simple friendship.

All of which had been enough to have him drifting to sleep in a haze of happiness.

And then he had woken up this morning, obscenely early admittedly, but he hadn't cared because for the first time in what felt like years, he had woken up with his mind practically bubbling, frothing with ideas and inspiration. He had woken up wanting to write.

And write he had.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he had found himself writing a scene involving Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook, one in which they had a discussion, not to say argument, about trust and how far it went when their personal lives overlapped with the professional, with Nikki angry at Rook about something Rook had written about in an article. It was a scene that Castle suspected would come towards the climactic midpoint of a story, which wasn't that unusual for him to write pivotal scenes out of order.

What really energized him was the way his writer's brain felt as if it had been galvanized, the old drive to write returning to him. Once he had written out the scene in the most protracted stint of writing he'd done in months, he had kept on working, switching to an old-school notebook to try to sketch out a plot. Once a plot got more involved, he inevitably had to move it to his electronic smart board but when he was brainstorming in the early stages, he still felt it was easier with pen and paper, easier to cross out and draw arrows and other symbols as he filled in events and characters.

Now, Castle was on his third—or was it fourth?—cup of coffee that morning. (Hmm, he might have to slow down his intake if he didn't want to be bouncing off the walls all day.) Eh, never mind. He had the basic plot outline for a book. It was the barest skeleton now, of course, but he didn't even care because it was still more than he'd managed to come up with in the last year. He could write again.

And it was because of Beckett. Not only because he was writing about Nikki Heat again but in a much more basic sense, it was due to Beckett that he was writing again. Something about Beckett's personality struck sparks off his mind. It wasn't anything he could explain or put into words; it was like alchemy but somehow, she inspired him. The closest he could come to an explanation was that her intelligence stimulated his but it wasn't only that; being around other smart people didn't have the same effect, as he knew. Gina was smart too and she didn't inspire him. No, his brain apparently responded like this only to Beckett and no, he didn't know why. Nor, at the moment, did he really care why; all he cared about was that it was true. Beckett did inspire him; she challenged him, she made him think, she made him look at things in a new way.

It wasn't exactly news to him but it was one more way in which his life was just… better because of Beckett. Of course he enjoyed spending time with her but more than that, being around her was good for him.

And he had a plot now. Involving Nikki Heat, yes, but more than that, he was also going to make it a tribute to Captain Montgomery, to the man he'd known and come to respect. Montgomery's fictional counterpart would be one of the victims then, in a case where One PP was trying to put pressure on an investigation. Yes, that would do it—and more, it would provide a reason for Nikki to grow closer to Jameson Rook, because in a case where she couldn't trust other cops, if she thought someone on the inside was trying to influence the investigation—the way Raglan had written off the Johanna Beckett murder as gang violence because he was told to—Nikki could turn to Rook, someone who wasn't a cop but who she could trust.

Now, for Rook to be involved, there would need to be something about the initial case to bring it into the public eye, an angle for the media to be interested. A celebrity connection, possibly.

In his absorption, he wasn't paying attention to other noises so he didn't realize Alexis had come downstairs until he heard her voice. "Morning, Dad. You're up early."

He jerked his head up to see his daughter. "Good morning, pumpkin."

Alexis came over to join him at the island, draping one arm around his shoulder as she pecked his cheek in greeting. His chest filled with warmth, only to be immediately followed by a sharp stab of impending loneliness as he pictured all the mornings, not that far away now, when Alexis would be off at college and no longer here to greet him in the mornings with a smile and a kiss.

"Oh, you're writing again!" Her face lit up with a smile, so much happiness for him it made his heart squeeze. It occurred to him that his struggle with writer's block over the last year might have been just as hard for Alexis as it had been for him because he knew she worried about him. She hadn't mentioned his writer's block to him much, his sweet daughter too sensitive to his feelings to do that, but he knew she worried. It was in the way she tried to cheer him up (he knew his daughter well enough to recognize when she was trying to cheer him up), the way she so-casually mentioned stories about crime or murder she'd read in the paper or in books in the hope of prodding something in his mind.

"Yeah, just brainstorming a plot now but I think it's coming along," he assured her.

"That's great, Dad."

She beamed at him as she moved away to pour herself an orange juice and then returned to perch on the stool beside him. "Wait. Are you writing about Nikki Heat?" She had apparently caught sight of his notes and didn't wait for his confirmation, her smile collapsing into a faint frown. "But I thought you were done with Nikki Heat."

Done with Nikki Heat or with Beckett, he wondered? "No," he answered carefully. "It was more that I… put Nikki Heat aside for a while but nothing was decided permanently. It's not like I killed her off the way I did Derrick Storm." The mere idea of it made him want to flinch. "I'm not sure I'll ever be completely done with her," he added, almost more to himself than to Alexis. And this time, he really wasn't sure if he was talking about Nikki Heat or Beckett.

"Oh." Alexis's expression was not exactly pleased. "So you're planning to keep seeing Detective Beckett then?"

Seeing Beckett—he knew Alexis meant it literally but he couldn't help but think of it in the more euphemistic sense, of dating Beckett, thought it with the usual stab of longing, mingled in with hope now. "I do plan to go to the precinct later," he answered somewhat obliquely. For once, he wasn't quite sure of his footing where Alexis was concerned. He had no intention of seeming to ask for or require her permission or approval to return to the precinct or pursue this… friendship with Beckett. But he couldn't simply ignore Alexis's opinion either.

Alexis hesitated, buying time by sipping her orange juice and then fiddling with her hair in one of her characteristic gestures when she was uncertain. "Dad… are you sure?"

He sighed a little. "I've missed going into the precinct, working with Beckett," he temporized. He had missed Beckett, most of all. "I don't want to give up the chance to work with her."

"But she broke your heart!"

Oh, ouch. His breath stuttered in his chest at this blunt description of his emotional state. Jeez, sometimes he forgot the way children, teenagers, could fling words about like poniards, to paraphrase Shakespeare.

At least his daughter was sweet enough to realize and regret her bluntness. Alexis's eyes went wide in dismay and she gave him an apologetic grimace. "Sorry. I didn't mean… I just…" She hesitated and then went on, "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I don't want to see me get hurt either," he tried for lightness.

Alexis gave him one of her reproving looks when he was inappropriately facetious, a look she had down to an art. "You've just been so… mopey the last year and I know it's at least partly because of her and I worry."

"Alexis," he sighed. "I know I've been… moody and distracted and I'm sorry for that. It's not fair to you and I—"

"No, Dad, I didn't mean to blame you," she quickly interjected. "I understand and it's not like you've been ignoring me or anything. You've still been here for me."

He gave her a faint smile. "Thank you." He sobered and went on, "But sweetie, you should understand that however upset I've been, it's not Beckett's fault. She hasn't done anything wrong."

"She hurt you," Alexis muttered a rather sullen protest.

He loved his daughter for being so sweet and protective but he didn't want her blaming Beckett either. He thought quickly and decided to bring up an incident he personally would rather Alexis forget entirely—but to defend Beckett… "Do you remember when I GPS tracked your phone and you stopped talking to me for a couple days?"

Alexis blinked, frowning a little, and he wasn't sure if it was in confusion at the seeming non sequitur or lingering annoyance at the memory. "Yes."

"I was upset then but do you blame yourself for upsetting me?"

"It wasn't like I wanted to fight with you but you tracked my phone as if I were some kind of criminal!" Alexis flared in automatic defensiveness.

"That's my point. It was my fault for betraying your trust so our fight and how upset I felt was my fault, not yours," he placated gently, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair away from her face and then tweak her ear teasingly, evoking a small smile from his daughter.

Encouraged, he went on. "It's the same thing with Beckett. I was the one in the wrong for betraying her trust so if I got hurt, it was a result of my own actions, okay? So don't blame Beckett."

"Okay," she agreed. "It's not that I don't like Detective Beckett. I just worry that you're going to be hurt. Sorry."

He tugged her in closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulder to drop a kiss on her forehead. "You don't have to apologize for worrying about me, pumpkin."

Alexis hesitated again, studying him with such solemn eyes. His little philosopher. She was such a serious person, his daughter, for all her sense of humor and occasional silliness (aided and abetted by him). She had been a serious baby and a serious child, peering out at the world with big, blue eyes that seemed to take in everything, consider everything.

Not for the first time, he felt a sharp pang of unfamiliarity, or rather, of distance. She was so unlike him in a lot of ways. Oh, he knew that he and Alexis were about as close as any father and daughter could be; he knew his daughter's personality, her habits, her little quirks. But sometimes, like now, he was reminded how different they were. He was impulsive, inclined to be reckless, and as an optimist, tended to assume things would turn out fine even without extensive planning. While Alexis seemed to have been born preternaturally thoughtful and responsible, without a reckless bone in her body. It never ceased to amaze him, how different and unique Alexis was, and so utterly different from either him or Meredith (thankfully).

And at these times, he wondered… Wondered how things might have been better, easier, if she'd had a more reliable, present mother. A mom, who could have served as a translator of sorts between him and Alexis, or at least, as a bridge to help narrow the gulf between his experiences and point of view as a man and those of Alexis as a teenage girl. His mother, especially since she'd moved into the loft, tried to help—and he appreciated it, he did—but his mother was not especially like Alexis in temperament either, to say nothing of the added generation gap.

As well as he knew his daughter, sometimes he realized sharply just how different she was from him, making it hard for him to really understand her thought process, her feelings. He didn't often dwell on how his parenting experience might have been different with a true partner—there was no point because Meredith was what she was and there was no changing that—but sometimes he wondered…

"Does she make you happy, Dad? Will she make you happy?" Alexis sounded, and looked, almost wistful as she asked this, his little girl again, still.

"Yeah, she does," he answered with a conviction that should have been more surprising than it was, considering all that had happened, how long it had been since he'd spent any significant length of time with Beckett (since two days hardly counted). And yet, he was sure of it, that Beckett could and would make him happy. Not only because he enjoyed working with her but if—oh, _if_—they were actually together too.

If only he could be as certain that he could make Beckett happy, he thought with a pang of self-doubt—as happy as she deserved to be, as happy as he wanted to be able to make her. He never had kept a woman happy for long. Not Kyra, not Meredith, not Gina…

Alexis gave him a rather fragile smile. "I'm glad. I do like Detective Beckett and I think that I could trust her to take care of you when I leave for college."

"Alexis, it's my job to worry about you, not yours to worry about me. Whatever happens with me and Beckett, you should feel free to go to college wherever you want. Not that I wouldn't be ecstatic if you chose one of the fine institutions of higher education right here in the state—"

"Dad," Alexis inserted, giving him one of her looks of fond exasperation.

Right, he was digressing. "Not the point," he quickly shifted. "I'm just saying that I can take care of myself. I don't need Beckett or anyone else to take care of me."

"Whatever you say, Dad." From her tone and her expression, she was only humoring him but he decided not to call her on it.

"I do say. Now, what are your plans for today?" he changed the subject.

"I'm meeting up with Paige and some other girls for lunch and then we're thinking of watching a movie."

"Okay, have fun and text me if you're going to be out for dinner too."

"Don't I always?"

This rhetorical question signaled the end of their conversation about Beckett, or Nikki Heat for that matter, as he and Alexis made and ate breakfast companionably, with Alexis chatting lightly about her friends.

Later, Castle was back in the precinct by shortly after 10 a.m., this time armed with a bag full of bagels and cream cheese for homicide, along with the usual coffee and a bear claw for Beckett. He deposited the bagels and cream cheese in the break room, trusting the cop grape vine would function to attract the feeding frenzy even without his assistance—ably assisted by both the boys, who trailed after him into the break room like hounds following a scent.

Beckett looked up as he approached and favored him with a subtle but unmistakable smile, one that tipped up the corners of her lips and brightened her eyes—and made his heart bound in response.

She looked—dare he say it—happy to see him. God, she was so lovely. And more importantly, she looked as if she had gotten a little more rest, the shadows under her eyes a little less noticeable.

"Hey, Castle."

"Good morning, Detective. Your morning sustenance," he placed the coffee and the bear claw on her desk with an exaggerated flourish and was amply rewarded by the widening of her smile.

"Thanks."

He waited as she ate her bear claw, which was no hardship to him as he could spend all day watching her and never tire of it.

But she arched her eyebrows at him. "Are you just going to sit there watching me eat? Because that's creepy."

He grinned at her. "As much as I love to observe you, I did have a purpose in coming here today. I wanted to talk to you about something."

"I'm listening."

Of course, having told her that, he stalled on exactly how he wanted to broach the subject. In spite of everything that had happened, and maybe partly because of Alexis's reminder of how hurt he'd been, his heart quailed inside him as he thought of asking her outright to let him stay and shadow her again.

"I wrote this morning," he blurted out after a moment.

"Well, you are a writer."

Oh, right, he'd forgotten that she wouldn't know just how bad his writer's block had been. He had a bad habit of assuming Beckett was omniscient. "That's the thing, really. I've been blocked for almost a year now, worse even than what happened after I killed off Derrick Storm. I haven't written much of anything since I finished my last book. But this morning, I wrote more than I have in months and it's not just that, I have a plot, or at least the basic outlines of a plot, and a few character sketches for secondary characters. I've been working all morning."

"Okay, so you have ideas for another book. That's nice but what does that have to do with me?"

"Because this new book, what I wrote this morning, is about Nikki Heat."

That got a reaction, her eyes widening slightly and an expression he couldn't read flitting across her face. "Aren't you done with Nikki Heat?"

He seemed to be having this conversation a lot this morning. "No, I'm not—I never—it was more that I took a break from writing about her but it wasn't because I was done with her or that I didn't want to write about her anymore. Nikki Heat is… complicated, a strong character but one with vulnerabilities too that makes her real, human and amazing.." He broke off, had a feeling he was blurring the line between Nikki Heat and Beckett. "Anyway, I want to write more about Nikki Heat. I'm pretty sure I could write dozens of books about her and not get tired of her."

"Oh. So I guess that means you'll be sticking around for a while longer, shadowing me again."

Her tone, her expression, was neutral and he really wished her poker face wasn't so good because he couldn't tell how she felt about him coming back for real. If she was happy about it or not. He was all too aware of the fact that Beckett had not exactly been thrilled at his shadowing her before (understatement) and while he thought she'd softened to him before he screwed everything up and she certainly appeared to have softened towards him in the past couple days, he knew this wasn't a normal time. Montgomery's still dark, vacant office was proof of that. And what Beckett might be okay with on a temporary basis was different than what she would welcome on a more long-term basis.

"Uh, yeah, if you're okay with it," he hurriedly added. "It would be helpful for me, to refresh my memory of how things work around here," he temporized, since in all honesty, he knew that the months of shadowing her before had given him more than enough familiarity with the basics of NYPD procedure for him to write a dozen Nikki Heat books. It wasn't about the books. For that matter, he was starting to think it had never been about the books. It had always been her, because he'd wanted to get to know her better, because he wanted to spend time with her. He steeled himself to go on because he'd promised himself he wouldn't overstep again but this seemed like a test for, well, everything else. She might trust him but that was different from wanting him around every day. "But if you don't want me around, then I'll leave."

He tried and failed to force a small smile, tried harder to hide the fact that he was basically holding his breath.

Beckett studied him for a moment and he still could not read the expression in her eyes. "I have a hard job, Castle, and having you around makes it a little bit more fun."

He released the breath he'd been holding. She would let him stay, maybe even wanted him to stay.

"Besides," she added blandly, although now the hint of a smile was lurking at the corners of her lips and echoed in the thread of teasing in her tone, "who am I to stand in the way of literary inspiration?"

His surge of elation released itself in a laugh. "Well, every writer does need inspiration. I'm sure the spirits of the Muses all thank you, Beckett."

"Uh huh. Just remember that if the new Captain, whenever he or she is appointed, is not quite as in tune with the 'spirits of the Muses,' your return might be short-lived," she warned him mildly, her tone becoming faintly mocking as she quoted him.

"Oh, I'm not worried about that. I'll just have the Mayor call the new Captain and request his or her cooperation."

"Oh right, of course, your friend, the Mayor. I guess I'd better get used to having you around again, crazy theories and all." She affected a sigh but her eyes were bright. "And just when I'd gotten used to not having you around too. Either way, you do like to cause trouble, don't you?"

His susceptible hopeful heart bounded in his chest. She was teasing him but more than that, the implication in her words almost made him think… It almost seemed like an oblique admission that she had missed him. She had gotten accustomed to having him around, even before… But he was slowly learning wisdom where Beckett was concerned and he didn't smirk or crow or otherwise express his reaction to her admission. "What can I say, I'm a born troublemaker," he quipped instead. "It's a gift."

She rolled her eyes at that. "That's one word for it," she shot back dryly, smirking.

He grinned at her, feeling happier than he could remember feeling in months. He was back in the precinct to stay, he could write again. And Beckett was teasing him and smiling at him, her eyes lit with green gold sparks from where they caught the sun.

And at that moment, all was right in his world.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: As always, thank you all for reading and reviewing! I hope everyone continues to stay safe and well!


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: I enjoyed writing this chapter so I hope you all enjoy reading it.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 12_

Castle was here and he was back to _stay_. He wanted to shadow her again.

Kate tucked the knowledge away in her heart, feeling the assurance like a glow of warmth in her chest.

He was writing about Nikki Heat again. If anyone had told her back when Castle had first started shadowing her that she would react like this, feel so… pleased at the thought that he wanted to write more books about Nikki Heat, she would have dismissed the person as obviously crazy. It wasn't as if she'd asked or even wanted him to write about her.

But now, well, everything felt different now. Because she knew she would miss him if he wasn't here. And she couldn't help but feel a little flutter in her chest at the way he'd talked about Nikki Heat earlier, that he thought he could write dozens of books about her and not get tired of her. She couldn't help but wonder, think, that he was also talking about her, that he didn't think he would ever get tired of spending time with her.

And it was about spending time with her. She was reasonably sure of that. He didn't really need to shadow her for research purposes. Castle would need to be completely inept or stupid—and she knew he was neither—for him not to have learned enough about NYPD procedures and the workings of the homicide division to write dozens of Nikki Heat books already. It wasn't as if police procedures were all that complicated to begin with and in any event, in his books, he didn't focus a lot on the procedures themselves because doing so would only lead to a very boring book. All he really needed to know was a basic working knowledge of the NYPD and he already had that. The rest could be left to his fertile imagination.

No, if he still wanted to shadow her, it was about her, about his feelings for her. Feelings that had survived months of distance and silence. Feelings that she thought she returned…

Oh god.

She did… like him. Maybe more than that, she trusted him.

And for a moment, all she could think, stupidly, was that this wasn't supposed to happen. Nothing about this developing… _thing_ between her and Castle made sense. She was a cop and he was a multi-millionaire celebrity. Anything between them should have been limited to a brief, meaningless fling, nothing more. At best, it should have been a strictly professional acquaintance, a writer and his research subject.

Instead, even before everything had fallen apart, they had become, well, friends. A little tentatively, sure, but friends nonetheless, people who socialized outside of work. People who enjoyed spending time together.

And now… they might have had a falling out but they had moved past that. She had missed him. She just… liked him.

And somehow, in spite of everything (or maybe, in some ways, it was because of everything), he'd become… the person she thought about when she envisioned a relationship. He'd become the guy she thought she was slowly (maybe not so slowly) falling for.

Which left her sitting at her desk at work trying not to smile like some besotted loon and trying to focus on her work without being too distracted by sneaking glances at him. A task that was not made easier by the fact that it was a quiet time at the precinct, partly because it was Saturday and so, aside from the scattered detectives with active cases, the only other people around were uniforms on weekend shift, who spent most of their time out patrolling the beat, rather than in the precinct, and partly because of Captain Montgomery's loss so even the people who were around were subdued. Lt. Juarez, the acting Captain, was in the building and had made the rounds of all floors in the morning and would likely check in again in the afternoon, but he had made it clear that he wasn't going to actively interfere and expected them all to keep functioning normally. Plus it wasn't as if she found paperwork riveting at the best of times.

She shot another look at Castle—but this time, he happened to glance at her at the same time, his gaze catching hers. Damn it, caught in the act. She sternly fought back a blush.

He arched his eyebrows at her teasingly. "You know, Beckett, I have it on the best authority that staring is creepy."

She lifted her chin. "I wasn't staring; that implies watching you for a prolonged time. I was only glancing, a brief look."

"You are so hot when you talk like a dictionary."

And now she was blushing, ridiculously. She rallied, trying to divert his attention. "Do you usually talk to yourself when you're writing?"

It was honestly something she'd been wondering. One reason she'd found Castle to be distracting was because he'd been working himself, brainstorming the plot for the next Nikki Heat novel, from what she could tell. He'd appropriated a notepad and been scribbling on it, occasionally crossing things out, and creating a diagram of sorts with arrows, pausing at intervals as he thought things out. She had never seen so much of his writing process like this and it was oddly, or not so oddly, fascinating. To watch him and realize that he was planning the book that she knew would intrigue and challenge her in about a year's time. She would probably have been just as interested in watching James Patterson or Michael Connelly working on one of their books but this had a more personal edge because, well, this was Castle. And he was writing about her or to be more precise, the fictional version of her.

But it wasn't just that either. It was him. He was expressive as he worked, as she perhaps should have expected, frowning or smiling to himself at whatever he was thinking, mumbling things like "how about this" or "maybe if she…" or "no, that won't work" sotto voce.

Her diversionary tactic worked because he abruptly looked a little sheepish (adorably so—wait, what?). "Oh, was I thinking out loud? It happens sometimes when I'm really concentrating."

She shot him a smirk. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me, that you just can't shut up even when you're thinking."

He only laughed. "Alexis wonders the same thing sometimes."

"Clearly Alexis should win a medal for her patience in putting up with you."

His expression softened into one of the smiles she often saw when he was talking about Alexis, his dad smile. "I often think so."

As always, she felt the dangerous tug of attraction to this side of him, the way his voice, his whole expression, changed when he was thinking about his daughter or talking about her.

She pulled her eyes away from him. "I need to go back to work and so should you," she managed, trying and failing to sound crisp, sounding rather breathless instead.

"Yes, Detective," he threw her a teasing salute and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. Damn, the other reason she couldn't help liking him, the way he made her laugh so easily.

(Where was all the old irritation she'd used to feel at his antics?)

He appeared to have no difficulty in returning to his work. She wasn't quite so successful, although she did manage to keep her eyes from wandering again, kept them strictly trained on her computer screen. Her thoughts were another story.

He was reviewing what he'd written, crossing some lines out and circling others, once again engrossed. It was a side of him she'd never really seen before, evidence, if she'd needed it, that no matter how he might joke, he really did work hard at his writing. It occurred to her too just how much it meant to him to be able to write again, how much his writer's block over the last year or so must have bothered him. He was clearly excited to be writing again.

She couldn't help but wonder if his rediscovered ability to write had something to do with her… She hadn't missed his mention of being blocked after killing off Derrick Storm, which she hadn't known before, so it seemed as if meeting her and being inspired to write about Nikki Heat had helped him with writer's block before. And now, he'd suffered writer's block again after his latest book, the book he had written as an apology to her, writer's block that was now over, after spending time with her again. Correlation wasn't causation and it was possible she was being supremely egotistical to think that something about her could really have such an influence on the creative output of a man who'd written 22 novels before he knew of her existence. And yet, she still wondered…

Oh, this was stupid! She was acting like some teenage girl with a crush, unable to drag her thoughts away from the object of said crush—and she flatly refused to do so. She was a mature adult, a cop, and a homicide detective at that. By dint of will, she pushed all thoughts of Castle to the back of her mind and returned to her work with a ruthless concentration.

It was a couple hours before Castle twitched, pulling his vibrating phone out of his pocket, and pushing himself to his feet and walking a few steps away before he answered, "Castle."

It was the way Castle froze for a moment, one foot paused in the very act of stepping, that drew Kate's attention first and then his words reached her and she straightened up, giving up on work for the moment.

"Evelyn, hello," his voice immediately shifted, softening with compassion. "No, you're not interrupting anything; you can call anytime. How can I help you?"

Evelyn. Why was Evelyn calling Castle?

Castle had apparently regained enough control that he moved a few more steps away, so he was standing at the very edge of the bullpen, his back turned towards them and by some fitting coincidence, peering straight into the windows to Captain Montgomery's dark office.

It had to be something about the Captain's funeral, Kate guessed. She had been expecting to hear from Evelyn herself with Evelyn's choice for the person to give the eulogy at the funeral service and of the pallbearers. Oh, the pallbearers. Kate suddenly thought she could guess why Evelyn had called Castle, to ask Castle to be one of the pallbearers.

Castle had lowered his voice so Kate couldn't make out what he was saying, although the faint tones of his voice reached her.

But she wasn't left to wonder for long because it was very few minutes before Castle turned and she heard him say into the phone, "Of course, it's no trouble. Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you or the kids. Take care of yourself, Evelyn."

He ended the call and then his gaze sought and found hers. He looked… different, Kate realized, his expression oddly controlled. She couldn't quite explain it but as he neared and resumed his seat again, she could see that it was something about the set of his mouth, the look in his eyes that appeared more gray than blue at the moment. It wasn't an expression she was used to seeing but she noticed it with a sudden pang of recognition and with it came understanding. The last time she'd seen a similar look on his face, and probably the first, had been at the loft the other evening, when she had told him the truth about Montgomery's past. It was something like grief but it was grief that he was suppressing.

For just a moment, he looked starkly alone—no, more than that, he looked lonely and her heart squeezed in her chest. It was silly, right, had to be, to think that Rick Castle, famous, popular, with a loving family, could be lonely. She tried to dismiss the word, the thought, but found it lingered with a strange persistence.

Kate was used to being alone, dealing with her own troubles largely by herself, her dad and Lanie notwithstanding. She'd somehow assumed that Castle was different, with his warm and loving family, his more exuberant personality. But for the first time, it occurred to her to wonder if, in his own way, Castle was alone too.

Who did Castle talk to when he was troubled or sad? She knew him too well to think he would readily confide in either his mother or his daughter, not with the way he took care of them and protected them. And from what she had seen, from what she knew of him, for all Castle's talk about having connections everywhere, he wasn't someone who had a lot of close friends. Kate knew enough of human nature to guess that Castle's wealth and fame had isolated him further. She had never imagined that somehow, in spite of everything, Castle might be as alone—as lonely—as she was.

The realization struck her as strangely… _wrong_. It should not be true. Castle of all people should not be lonely.

Well, he wouldn't have to be alone anymore. She was his friend—as were the boys, even Lanie in her own way.

"That was Evelyn," he told her quietly.

"I heard."

"She, um, she asked me to tell you that she's decided who she wants to give the eulogy, the Captain's former partner, Hassan, she said his name was?"

She should have expected that. "Lieutenant Ahmed Hassan," Kate confirmed. "He's the head of the homicide division at the 20th but before that, he was the Captain's partner for almost 10 years. And he helped train me when I became a detective," she added before she'd fully realized she was going to.

This little piece of information about her past made Castle's expression lighten a little, a spark of his usual curiosity, somewhat subdued now.

But for once, he didn't ask anything else, only responded, "Then you'd know how to contact him."

She nodded. "I had to tell him about the Captain."

He sobered again. "Evelyn also wanted me to tell you…" He darted a quick glance over at the boys before returning to meet her eyes. "She wants you, Ryan, and Esposito to be three of the pallbearers, in addition to Hassan, Rob Montgomery, and… um, me."

Because she had predicted it, the confirmation wasn't a total surprise but it did underscore just how highly Montgomery must have thought of Castle. And Evelyn too and Kate knew Evelyn well enough to know she was nobody's fool, certainly not a woman who would be fooled by some shallow charm or good looks. No, it was clear that Evelyn must like and respect Castle too. "The Captain liked you."

"I know but I'm… I wasn't expecting…" He shrugged a little as if he couldn't explain what he meant, an oddly endearing gesture of humility that she wouldn't have expected to find in Castle but that somehow didn't surprise her either, at least not now.

"Evelyn knows what she's doing."

He blinked, giving her a look of some surprise at her apparent approval. She managed not to blush and met his eyes steadily. "I'm honored by her choice," he said very quietly and soberly.

It was inexplicable, made no sense, and was probably inappropriate given the context, but her heart was suddenly thudding in her chest as their gazes held, why she didn't know. Except that Castle looked so serious, so sincere, and he really was a better man than she'd ever imagined.

He was the first one to blink and look away and she felt ridiculously disappointed by that. (Since when?)

"I'll tell the boys," she hurriedly told him because at that moment, putting a little distance between her and Castle seemed like the more comfortable option. And anyway, she did need to tell the boys and their no-nonsense company would be the perfect cure to her flusterment over Castle.

She was restored to herself when she returned to her desk a few minutes later after talking to the boys and receiving their subdued responses. (Well, Ryan's response was subdued; Espo's was surly, so a stranger watching would have assumed he was offended rather than moved to be told he would be one of Montgomery's pallbearers. But she knew, because she and Espo were not that different in some ways, that outward bad temper was the way Esposito disguised his feelings.)

Castle looked up at her as she resumed her seat, offering a small twitch of his lips as a substitute for a smile. "I was thinking about when I first got to know Montgomery."

"You knew him before the Tisdale case," she guessed.

"Did he tell you?"

"No, I guessed."

Now he gave her a small smile. "Of course you did. Yeah, I met him maybe a year, no, more than that, closer to a year and half before the Tisdale case. Through the Mayor and Judge Markaway, the poker group, you know. One of their regular players, another judge, retired and moved to Florida so they had an empty seat and Bob asked me." He paused. "I'm pretty sure that the Captain thought I was a real jackass at first."

Kate feigned shock. "No. You? Whatever could have given him that impression?"

He threw her something like one of his usual smirks, the one that, yes, had made her think he was just a cocky jackass too. "I know, right? I'm the soul of sweetness and docility." He affected solemnity. "I suppose it just serves as a lesson that none of us are infallible in our judgments of others," he intoned piously.

She snorted and rolled her eyes for good measure. "Stop imitating a priest, Castle. You're very bad at it."

Castle jerked a little, dropping the act, as his gaze became abstract. "A priest, oh, that would be a good one." He grabbed the notepad and hurriedly scrawled something down, presumably he had thought of a way to involve a priest in the next Nikki Heat book.

Somewhat amused, Kate waited and it was just a few minutes before he looked back up at her, now appearing a little sheepish.

"Uh, sorry about that. I had an idea and wanted to jot it down before I forgot it."

"I figured."

He hesitated and then added, "Oh, and I was thinking of making this next book sort of about Montgomery. Not about that," he hurriedly, if unspecifically, assured her. "Just generally, a tribute of sorts to the kind of Captain he was, the man we knew."

It occurred to her that Montgomery himself would probably appreciate that. She knew he had read Castle's books. "That sounds nice," she told him softly.

He visibly relaxed, brightening. "Thanks."

There was a brief pause and then after a moment, Castle blinked and seemed to mentally shake himself. "Right, uh, where was I? I met Montgomery because of the poker games, just to have a good time. Well, you saw a little of what they were like; we're laid-back about it and trash-talk each other, that sort of thing."

"I know." She was familiar with that sort of masculine one-upmanship, the near-constant jibes, not all that different from the way cops tended to interact. She couldn't entirely picture Captain Montgomery joining in but Castle, oh, she could picture Castle in such a setting easily. His easy gregariousness, the brash, smug act he put on so well.

"So anyway, it was a couple months in, maybe at the third or fourth meeting, we were over at Judge Markaway's house that night and on one round, both the Judge and the Mayor folded quickly so it was just the Captain and me left, going back and forth, each of us raising the stakes." Castle paused, a reminiscent smile playing over his lips. "It was a great game. Roy was damn good at poker, you know. At first I'd thought he was bluffing but then, well, something about his expression, his complete calm, made me think he had the goods after all so I folded and he won—and then it turned out, he'd totally played me and he really had been bluffing the whole time!"

She gave a little huff of laughter. "Good on the Captain."

He made a face but had the grace to laugh. "Yeah, they had a good laugh at my expense then too. Afterwards, we took a break while Markaway and Bob got drinks and I congratulated Roy, said something about how that might have been one of the best bluffs I'd ever seen. And he gave me one of his looks, the ones that made you feel like he was taking an X-ray of your entire character, you remember?"

"Oh, I'm very familiar with those looks," she agreed wryly. Montgomery's assessing gazes had been almost legendary, his way of simply staring cops down until they felt as if he had to be seeing every fault, every mistake, they'd ever made and rushed to plead out, as it were. It had worked on some criminals too, the ones who were smart enough to realize that the quieter, more subtle Montgomery was more dangerous than the louder, bullying cops.

Castle's smile softened a little. "And then he just said, and I quote, 'you're not nearly as dumb as you look, are you.'"

That sounded like Montgomery too. She could hear his familiar dry tone saying the words, picture the expression on his face as he gave that sort of wry, back-handed compliment that was characteristic of him, and for a moment, her throat felt tight with a surge of raw loss. Oh god, the Captain—_Roy_.

She had, she realized, been so focused, preoccupied, with preserving his legacy, it had allowed her to mostly push aside her grief. She'd had work to do and the work had been such that Montgomery's betrayal, his past, had always been at the forefront of her mind, making it a little easier to avoid and delay dealing with her grief. But now, his legacy was secured and hearing Castle's story had reminded her of just what a friend the Captain had been to her too. More than just her Captain or her mentor, he had been her friend, the person at work who had known her the longest and the best. No matter what his past mistakes had been, to Kate herself, Montgomery had been a good friend. When she'd been drowning in her mom's case those early years, Montgomery had been the one to save her, make her realize what she was doing to herself. He had trained her, taught her how to be a detective, how to think about homicides and solve them. He had made her what she was. And now, she had lost him.

"Kate."

She blinked out of her sorrowful thoughts at the quiet sound of Castle's voice, irrationally feeling a little flicker of warmth inside her at his use of her first name. She was surprised at it. She didn't think he'd ever called her by her first name before but she found she rather liked it, liked the way his voice shaped and softened the hard 'k' and 't' of her name.

She met his eyes, so warm and soft, filled with enough compassion and understanding that she felt the stupid tightening of her throat again and had the crazy thought that it might be nice to be held. But they were in the middle of the bullpen and even if they weren't, hugging wasn't really something they did. So she essayed a wobbly little smile. "Did Captain Montgomery ever tell you about how we first met?"

Castle shook his head. "No." His expression brightened with that familiar spark of curiosity, so characteristic of him. She didn't think she'd ever met anyone who seemed so endlessly interested in her, learning more about her, and she couldn't understand it because she really could not believe she was all that interesting but Castle apparently disagreed.

"It happened years ago, back when I was just a uniform, and not assigned to the 12th. I was… well, it wasn't a good time for me." She tried and failed for a small smile. "I was spending all my spare time, whenever I wasn't working, looking into my mom's case."

She saw the way Castle immediately sobered, became withdrawn, cautious.

"And one night, I was down in the records room, doing just that, poring over my mom's case file with a flashlight and Captain Montgomery, although he was Sergeant Montgomery at the time, caught me." She paused, managing a faint smile at the memory of how young, how green, she'd been. "I sort of started babbling, explaining to him that it was my mom's case, that I thought I'd noticed something. I was kind of terrified. I thought my career would be over when it had barely begun. I had no business being down in the records room. Uniforms aren't allowed and needless to say, rookie uniforms who are caught breaking the rules, assuming they don't get fired outright, don't get promoted; they usually get sent down to traffic or something and stay immured there."

"But Montgomery didn't write you up," Castle guessed quietly.

"No, he didn't. He just looked at me for a moment and then he told me that he would be back in five minutes. He didn't say that I should be gone by the time he came back but he didn't need to. And he gave me just enough time to make a quick copy of my mom's case file too." She managed a faint smile. "I thought he might have just taken pity on me or something but then, a few days later, he looked me up and the rest, as they say, is history." Her smile faded as she turned to look at Montgomery's dark, vacant office. "You know, it's funny, to this day, I don't really know why he chose to look the other way that day. I never asked him and after getting to know him, I realized he wasn't the kind to overlook breaking the rules just out of pity."

"I think I can guess," Castle offered, a little tentatively.

She looked back at him. "Why do you think he did it?"

"Because he recognized the same thing that I saw in you back when we first met."

At any other time, in any other context, she might have thought he was referring to her looks. She'd always thought that was what Castle had first noticed about her. But she knew there was no way he would imply such a thing about Montgomery; aside from anything else, Montgomery was famous for never having so much as looked at another woman in 30 years of marriage.

"He told me once that he'd seen the potential in you from the beginning and he meant it." Castle's eyes flickered to hers and then away, focusing on her desk instead, as he went on, slowly, pensively. "Montgomery was a good judge of character so I have no doubt that he would have recognized in you, even all those years ago, what I saw years later when you'd become Detective Beckett. He saw that you were—are—extraordinary."

She suddenly found it hard to breathe, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. She remembered the way she'd felt when she'd seen the dedication to _Heat Wave_ but more than that, she remembered what he had told her once, not long before their budding friendship had been wrecked, one of the things that had really made her soften towards him because it had been an indication that he really respected her, that he wasn't chasing after her just to get into her pants. _Other people come up against a wall, they give up. Not you. You don't give up, you don't back down. That's what makes you extraordinary. _

He thought she was extraordinary. But strangely, in all her whirling thoughts, the one that stood out was that actually, he might be the extraordinary one. And she didn't mean in the sense of being weird or crazy either. He was just so much… more than she'd ever expected. This man, who had proven to have more depths of character than she'd imagined, more kindness, more humanity and, yes, more humility. Funny, humility might have been the last word she would ever have thought to associate with Castle—and even now, it seemed strange to think it—but she could see it now. He hid it well, very well, some would say, but Kate had seen enough in the last couple days to confirm that what she'd started to suspect was true. When it came to the important things, the things that mattered, Castle wasn't smug or vain. He had his own insecurities.

And it occurred to her, too, that after all, she and Castle might not be so different after all. She hid her doubts and vulnerabilities behind her Detective Beckett persona, the carapace of invulnerability she'd constructed for her work. He hid behind his cocky playboy persona, the superstar author Richard Castle, who lived a mostly picture-perfect life of wealth and fame and women. They were diametrical opposites to all outward appearances but a disguise was a disguise and Kate could recognize a defense mechanism when she saw one.

Castle looked up and she saw the smirk curving his lips and by now, she knew him well enough that she wasn't surprised at all that he would switch so easily to levity. Hiding, deflecting. "But of course, the real reason I decided to base Nikki Heat on you is because you're tall."

A joke she'd been expecting but what he actually said was a surprise and startled a huff of laughter out of her. And maybe, after all, she liked that about him too, not just that he could make her laugh but that he could surprise her.

Unlike Will or Tom, the traitorous thought darted into her mind. She tried to ignore it.

He shot her one of those smug grins she'd used to find so irritating, part of his cocky celebrity act as it was.

She managed a smirk of her own in response. "Because heaven forbid a detective be short," she shot back dryly.

"In real life, sure, but come on, I write fiction and in fiction, how many heroes of short stature do you know of? Hard to rally the troops if you're a head shorter than the troops."

"Sure, tell that to Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, or the other hobbits."

He gave a loud, fake gasp of delight. "A geek reference! Why, Detective, I'm impressed."

"And you're talking nonsense, again."

He pretended to preen as if she'd just paid him a compliment. "I know, it's a talent."

"To 'speak all mirth and no matter'?" she shot back tartly.

"And now a Shakespeare quote! And just when I thought you couldn't possibly get any hotter." For the first time since his return, he gave her something approaching one of the teasing leers he'd used to shoot her back when they'd first started working together, the leers she'd hated so much. She didn't hate them anymore; funny, what a difference it made knowing that the jackass playboy thing was an act. Knowing that whatever else, Castle was interested in her for a lot more than just sex, that he really cared about her.

But if he had his role to play in their usual banter, so did she. She pointed a pencil at him in mock threat. "Instead of wasting my time with your nonsense, why don't you make yourself useful for a change and get me some coffee instead?"

He made a face at her. "For a change?" he huffed. "I've been very useful lately. Just for that, I'm going to go make _myself_ coffee," he sniffed in a show of offended dignity as he stalked off towards the break room.

She allowed herself to watch his retreating figure, aware of a smile curving her lips. Because she didn't think for even a millisecond that he would return with only one coffee; aside from anything else, Castle was too polite for that. And whatever his faults, he had always been unfailingly generous to her. Something dangerously like affection welled up in her chest.

Not only affection, she had to admit, as her eyes slid down to his butt. What, she was allowed to look. And more and more, she couldn't help but think she wanted to be allowed to touch too.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you all for reading and reviewing! I hope you're all managing to stay safe and sane!


	13. Chapter 13

Author's Note: I think this chapter came out well but I will leave that to you all to decide.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 13_

"Katie!"

Kate looked up and smiled as she saw her dad approaching from half a block away. They met on the sidewalk and she stepped into his arms, shutting her eyes for a moment on the stupid prick of tears as she breathed in the familiar scent of him. In her admittedly overly emotional state, the olfactory memory of her dad's reassuring, comforting scent hit her smack in the chest. Her dad smelled like himself again, the way he'd always used to when she was growing up, the combination of his aftershave, the soap he always used, and his laundry detergent. For a moment, she had a flash of memory to the bad years, the times when he had smelled mostly of stale alcohol and sometimes of worse than that, vomit or other bodily fluids. She shoved the memories aside, wouldn't think about them. That was all over now.

"Hi, Dad. Welcome back."

Her dad gave her a last squeeze and then kissed her cheek as she drew back. "How are you, Katie?"

"I'm fine," she assured him, as she always did, tucking her arm into his as they turned to walk towards their usual diner. "How was your conference?" He had just returned from a conference in Chicago earlier this week so she hadn't seen him in a couple weeks.

"Oh, it was good, busy, you know the way these law conferences are. They had something scheduled from 7:30 a.m. to 8 p.m. every day but there were a lot of interesting sessions." He gave her a quick summary of some of the highlights and she felt a rush of affection tightening her chest at the enthusiasm in his tone. It had taken a while for her dad to really get back into the full swing of work after he'd become sober. After the years of working in a haze of alcohol and then the long months of rehab, he had necessarily eased into his work and it had been one of the promising signs that had really made her believe that her dad would stay sober when he had once more started to show some of his old enthusiasm for his work.

"And as it happened, an old law school friend of mine was also at the conference so we had a chance to catch up a little."

"Oh, that's nice. Which friend is this? Have I met him?" she inquired.

"I don't know if you'd remember him, Katie; you only met him once years ago when he happened to be in New York with his family on vacation. His name is Leo Vogle."

"Leo Vogle," Kate repeated slowly. The name sounded vaguely familiar but it was possible she was only conflating it with someone else she might have come across once. "Wait, was he the friend of yours we had dinner with that one time? He has two kids, right? A son and a daughter a little older than me?"

"That's right. Good memory, Katie-girl, I didn't think you'd remember. It was so many years ago. I think you were only around 10 or 11 at the time."

Kate gave her dad a little smile. "Don't be too impressed. I don't actually remember your friend at all, can't picture his face or anything about him or his wife. I just remember his kids because we got along pretty well over that dinner. I remember thinking his daughter was cool." She had a hazy memory of a girl a couple years older than her who had seemed very grown-up and mature to the young Katie's eyes.

Her dad chuckled. "Oh, that's right, I do remember you and Stella got along like a house on fire."

"Stella, that was her name, I remember now. And her younger brother's name is… Evan or something?"

"Ethan," her dad corrected. "Good guess."

"How are they doing?"

"They're all doing well. Leo's a partner at his firm and he's handling mostly transactional work now, not so much litigation anymore. Stella followed in her dad's footsteps so she's a lawyer too, working as in-house counsel for some real estate company and Ethan is in finance." Her dad paused and then went on with a slight change in tone, "Leo and his wife are divorced. He hadn't heard about your mom either."

Kate stepped in a little closer to her dad, briefly squeezing his arm. She and her dad had both become accustomed to telling people about what had happened to her mom, the terse couple-sentence summary she imagined they had both essentially perfected and recited almost by rote when it came up. Depending on the person, Kate often left it at a brief mention that her mom had died, allowing the person to assume it had been an accident or illness of some kind. At others, she went so far as to mention murder but usually that was the extent of it.

It was, she suddenly remembered, all that she had told Tom too. A little odd, and yet somehow not that surprising, to realize that even then, from almost the beginning, she had opened up more to Castle than she ever had with Tom and she and Tom had dated for a few months. She hadn't told Tom anything more than the bare fact that her mom had been murdered. She had introduced Tom to her dad and never mentioned anything about her dad's troubles. Admittedly, she rarely told anyone about what her dad had been through—but again, she had told Castle.

What was it about Castle that had allowed him to worm his way past her defenses so quickly, even from the first? Because he had, somehow. And even now, again, he had snuck past her defenses so quickly. It had only been three days and Kate knew herself too well not to realize how unusual that was. She didn't trust anyone easily and she wasn't the kind of person who would trust quickly after a betrayal. And yet, somehow, Castle was different. She did trust him.

She shelved any consideration of Castle as she and her dad had reached the diner and her dad held the door open for her, as he always did. The bustle of getting seated and looking over the menu inevitably put a pause on their conversation.

It was after their server had taken their orders and they were once again alone that her dad asked, without preamble, "What's happened, Katie?"

She blinked, bemused. She'd been perfectly aware that her dad had been studying her over their menus but she had no idea what he meant. "I told you that Captain Montgomery died," she answered instead, cautiously subdued. "His funeral's been scheduled. It's going to be on Tuesday morning; the service is going to start at 10 a.m."

Her dad nodded soberly. "I'll be there."

She managed a faint curve of her lips, warmth filling her chest. "You will? You can take the morning off from work?" She hadn't been sure and hadn't wanted to rely on her dad coming; lawyers were not known for having flexible work schedules and not at such short notice.

"I already mentioned at work that I would have a funeral to go to. Did you think I would miss it?"

"I thought you would want to come but I didn't know you'd be able to."

Her dad reached out to squeeze her arm. "I know how important Captain Montgomery was to you so no matter what, I would be there."

Her throat was suddenly tight with emotion. Oh, she was so glad to have her dad back, once more a source of support. This was the dad she remembered, the one she'd missed so much. The dad who had gently persuaded her to take a break when she'd been studying for her AP exams in high school, who had encouraged her when she'd been fretting over them. Her mom had been the one Kate inevitably turned to when she was sad or hurt, whether it was emotionally or physically, but when Kate was really stressed, it was her dad who had been the best at calming her. Her dependable, soft-spoken dad.

"Thanks, Dad." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

"I didn't know the Captain nearly as well as you did but I knew enough to want to pay my respects." He paused, his expression darkening a little, the faint lines around his mouth deepening. "And I know how much I owe him."

She frowned at her dad. "What do you mean, you owe Captain Montgomery? Owe him for what?"

Her dad met her eyes and now, she recognized the bleakness in his expression for what it was, regret and something like guilt. Her heart clenched inside her. "I owe him for the way he was there for you when I wasn't. I know he looked after you when I'd… failed you."

She choked a little and it was her turn to reach out to grasp his hand. "Dad, no, that's not—you didn't—" There might be some truth to her dad's words but it was a truth she refused to acknowledge, certainly would never say out loud. And never ever to her dad.

"I did, Katie, I know I did. Don't try to shield me from the truth of what I did to you."

"Dad…"

"He was more of a father to you in those years than I was."

"Dad, _no_. Captain Montgomery was my mentor, my teacher in a lot of ways, but he could never—no one could ever replace you."

Her dad managed a wan little smile that somehow looked more poignant than tears. "I appreciate that, Katie, but he was still the one who looked out for you when I didn't. When you were so consumed by your mom's case in those years, I know he was the one who stopped you from drowning."

Kate swallowed the lump that was clogging her throat. It was true but she hadn't realized her dad knew that. They had never really talked about it; she had never told him just how close she had come to losing herself in those years. She hadn't been sleeping or eating properly, too consumed by her mom's case that things like sleep and nutrition had been entirely forgotten. And her dad had been drowning too, as much as—or worse—than she had been so he hadn't known, hadn't often been coherent enough to know. And yes, it was Captain Montgomery who had pulled her back from the brink; he had sent her for a health and psych eval and ordered her into therapy under threat of being suspended if she refused.

Later, when it was all over, when she had her dad back, she had briefly told her dad about that, explained to him why she had stopped looking into her mom's case. She hadn't realized but supposed she should have, that her dad would be able to guess that Montgomery had been the one to save her then. Her dad knew her well enough and had known Montgomery well enough to know that the Captain was the only person in her life then who had that much influence over her.

"The Captain was a good mentor," she managed to say.

"He was and I can never repay him for all I know he did for you."

There was a brief silence as Kate reaffirmed her decision never to tell her dad about Montgomery's involvement with Raglan and McAllister in the kidnapping scheme. She had told her dad the bare minimum of Raglan's scheme months ago when she had first learned about it but she had already decided that she wouldn't tell her dad that Montgomery had been involved. Not only because the more people who knew about a secret, the more likely it was to be found out but also because she hadn't wanted her dad to know and worry about another betrayal in her life.

Her dad patted her hand and then straightened up a little, pasting on a small smile. "I didn't mean to get so maudlin, Katie. I just wanted to explain why I could never miss Captain Montgomery's funeral."

She stretched her own lips into the closest facsimile of a smile she could manage. "I'm sure he would appreciate it and I know I do. Thanks, Dad."

He nodded, clearing his throat and taking a sip of water.

There was another silence and this one was broken by the opportune arrival of their food, which provided a welcome distraction and an opportunity for Kate—and Jim too—to regain their composure and dissipate the lingering emotion in the air.

They were about midway through their meals and Kate had begun to relax again when her dad paused, his fork in hand, and asked with a very bad attempt at nonchalance, "So what else has happened, Katie? I can tell something has, something good, if I were to guess."

Kate blinked, her own fork stalling in the air before she carefully set it down again. "What do you mean, you can tell?"

Her dad gave her one of his looks. "I know how devastated you were over Captain Montgomery's death. I could hear it in your voice when you called to tell me about it," he answered gently and she swallowed, nodding jerkily.

She had been devastated, had found it hard to speak through the suppressed sobs when she'd called her dad after all that had happened at the hangar that night. She had broken down the moment the call was over.

"I was expecting that you would look exhausted today, as if you hadn't slept in a week," her dad went on.

She inwardly winced. But wait, the implication in her dad's words was that she didn't look that way.

"But you don't." Her dad paused, studying her again. "You look good, Katie, almost… happy. There's a light in your eyes, in your smile. So I can tell that something good happened this week."

So much for having a poker face. But for all that, there was something comforting about it too, to know that in spite of everything that had happened, her dad still knew her so well, could read her so well. "Maybe you should be a detective, dad," she joked lamely.

Her dad briefly smiled. "I'm no detective but I am your dad and I have known you for quite a while now, you know."

She had to laugh a little at this. "Only my entire life," she agreed.

"Minus a couple hours when you were getting cleaned up in the hospital, Katie-bug," he inserted blandly.

She narrowed her eyes at him at the use of the endearment since she knew it was deliberate and teasing; her dad had joked the old nickname came from what she'd looked like as a newborn, all big eyes and no hair, wrapped up in a blanket like a cocoon. Her mom had laughingly protested the description, insisted the moniker was actually derived from Kate's favorite baby blanket that had featured a large smiling ladybug, ladybug and Katie-bug rhyming nicely. (Kate had seen some of her baby pictures and personally tended to believe her dad's story—but wasn't about to admit it.)

She found herself wondering―ridiculously, stupidly—what silly endearments Castle had used for Alexis when the girl was very young and the stories behind them. Kate had no doubt he would have used many silly nicknames, not just 'pumpkin,' that she knew he still used.

"Castle's back," she announced abruptly. Well, her dad had asked.

Her dad sat back a little. "Oh, is he?"

"Yeah. He saw the news about Captain Montgomery and came to the precinct the day after to express his condolences."

"Just a condolence visit then?"

"No." A tiny smile she couldn't quite help escaped her, betraying the little flutter of warmth in her chest at the thought of, well, the last couple days spent with Castle. "He's been in the precinct every day. We've talked, about Montgomery, about all that's happened since he left. It's been… nice."

"Interesting, I guess we both reconnected with an old friend in the last week."

Well, yes, she supposed that was one way of looking at it but she was startled to realize that her initial thought was that it wasn't true because Castle wasn't just a friend. He was… she wasn't sure exactly what he was but just an old friend wasn't it. He was… different; whatever was between her and Castle was different than simple friendship, more than that, somehow.

Just friends didn't do all that Castle had for her and she didn't react to actual friends the way she did to Castle. Running into Madison the way she had last year had not affected her nearly as much. No, it was only Castle who could affect her so much, who made her think and laugh and feel… things.

But she wasn't ready to put that into words and certainly not to her dad. "I suppose so," was her noncommittal response. "He said he wants to write more about Nikki Heat so he asked to shadow me again so I guess we'll be working together again too."

"I must say, you're taking this very well," her dad commented blandly. Too blandly.

She narrowed her eyes at him a little. "Well, considering Castle is still friends with the Mayor, I don't have much choice."

"Maybe not but it never stopped you from complaining about Castle's presence before, comparing him to a hyperactive overgrown puppy and calling him an irritating jackass who was incapable of taking anything seriously, if I remember correctly."

Kate bit her lip. Okay, so she had been rather vocal about her initial negative impressions of Castle. (In fairness, he really had been an ass at first.) "Your point, Dad?"

Her dad gave her a look of limpid innocence that immediately had her suspicions rising. "I'm just saying, for someone who insisted you were happy when Castle stopped shadowing you, you seem very sanguine about his return now."

"Okay, so you're right that it's been nice having Castle back. He's got a way of growing on people, I guess you could say."

"He certainly must if he's managed to make you smile after the week you must have had."

"He's good at that, making me smile." The telling admission slipped out before she'd thought. Bother, she'd forgotten that one drawback to how well her dad knew her was that while he rarely contradicted her or pushed her directly, he had a way of talking around a subject until she generally ended up admitting more than she'd intended to.

Her dad gave a rather satisfied smile that in anyone else, she would have called a smirk. "Yes, I rather got that impression, that you liked having Castle around and are glad he's back."

"So maybe I am rather glad he's back. He's a friend."

"Of course he is," her dad agreed.

"Da-ad," she drew the word out.

"Katie," he returned, raising his eyebrows at her in a look of mild inquiry. As if he had no idea what she was thinking.

"Spit it out, Dad. I can tell there's more on your mind than what you're saying."

It was her dad's turn to narrow his eyes at her but then he gave in. "I just can't help remembering that I insisted for about two years that your mom was just a friend too."

How did her dad know or guess these things? Kate could have sworn she hadn't said or done anything to give away that there was even a smidgen of a possibility that she and Castle might ever be anything other than friends. She felt treacherous color creeping into her cheeks even as she insisted, "Yeah, well, in this case, it's true. Castle and I are just friends. Besides, it's only been a couple days. He could finish his research for Nikki Heat and leave again in a month," she added, trying to tell herself she wasn't lying between her teeth. It was true; he _could _leave. She didn't expect that he would, not knowing what she did. Oh fine, that he cared about her.

Her dad didn't look particularly convinced. "You just said yourself that you and your Castle are friends so he doesn't have to shadow you for you to stay in touch with him."

"He is not my Castle, Dad!" she protested automatically. _But he could be_, a voice in her mind spoke up. She thought about his giving up $100,000 for a chance at her mom's killer, about fixing her dad's watch—about the way he had lit up when she'd admitted she'd liked his latest book.

She bit her lip, hesitating. She could not believe she was even considering admitting this—and to her dad, of all people. But her dad knew her better than anyone else and he knew too why she was so reluctant to let her guard down with anyone. He knew how much love could hurt. "So maybe I do… like Castle."

"So what's the problem, Katie? From what I know of him, you enjoy having him around and he seems to be able to make you laugh and that's no small thing."

Damn, her dad really was able to read her well. "But I just don't think anything between me and Castle could ever work, not for long. We're too different. He's this famous multimillionaire and I'm just a cop…" She shrugged a little.

"Oh, I wouldn't say you're 'just' a cop, Katie. You know you're remarkable."

Kate had to smile at that. "You're my dad so I think you're required to think that."

"Fair enough but actually, I wasn't talking about my opinion of you. I was referring to Castle's opinion and he thinks you're extraordinary."

Kate blinked, the word stupidly making her flush. "How do you—you read _Heat Wave_ and you remember the dedication?"

Her dad looked a little discomfited but he answered, "Did you really think I wouldn't read a book that was inspired by my own daughter? And it's not every day I read a New York Times bestseller that calls my daughter 'extraordinary' so of course I remember it."

Put like that, she supposed it wasn't surprising that her dad had read _Heat Wave_ and remembered the dedication. "You never mentioned it."

Her dad lifted one shoulder into a half-shrug. "At the time, you and Castle were no longer working together and it seemed like you, at least, wanted to avoid any mention of him."

Her dad had a point. She had been so hurt and so angry at Castle at the time. "Never mind that. But as I was saying, I can't really believe a relationship with Castle would last for long. We're so different and we just became friends again and work colleagues and I'd rather keep it like that without risking anything more."

Fear was what it came down to, really. She might not like admitting it but it was true. She was afraid to start a real relationship with Castle. She might know he cared about her—and yes, she thought she liked him, that she could fall for him. But thinking about letting him in further, really allowing herself to be vulnerable to him—as she would be, in a relationship—that was terrifying. Because she already knew that there was no way a relationship with Castle could be as… tangential to her life and emotions as her relationship with Tom had been. Castle wasn't like Tom or Will; he wasn't safe. Tom and Will had been safe because with them, she'd always been in full control of herself and her emotions. The spark that people talked about wasn't there so things had been easy, comfortable; she'd been able to let them in just enough but no further. Castle wasn't like that; things with Castle had never been that easy or uncomplicated. She'd never felt as if she was in the driver's seat, as it were, where things with Castle were concerned. A relationship with Castle would, no doubt, be challenging, exciting―but not easy and not safe. And she couldn't believe it would be sustainable over the long term.

Her dad shook his head a little with a faint, rueful smile. "You know, I seem to remember a certain daughter of mine who used to date bikers and grunge rockers, thrill-seekers…"

"I grew up," she said quietly. She left unsaid that she'd been forced to grow up when her mom had died and she'd learned just how much life—and love—could hurt you.

Her dad sighed, pain flickering across his face, because of course she didn't need to say it for him to know what the loss of her mom had done to her, to both of them. "You know, I told myself the same thing about your mom, that I didn't want to risk losing our friendship or our working relationship."

"You did?" she asked softly, not able to help herself. She hadn't known that. She'd always known that her parents had been friends and colleagues for a few years before they'd gotten together but from listening to her parents' stories, it had always just sounded like a natural, even inevitable, progression. Although admittedly, she supposed part of that might have been her own youthful viewpoint because she'd never been able to imagine her parents apart. To her, they had always seemed almost like parts of one whole, not two distinct individuals at all. And even now, years after her mom's death, when her dad was sober and had found a measure of peace again, Kate could see that her dad wasn't the same. It wasn't obvious most of the time but sometimes, when her dad spoke about her mom or was thinking about her, she could see it and thought, fancifully but somehow fittingly, that in those times, it seemed as if her dad was… smaller, diminished in some way.

"Oh, I worried about it for months before I finally got up the nerve to ask your mom out." Her dad paused and then smiled, momentarily looking much younger. "Your mom's response was, 'what took you so long?'"

She had to laugh. "That sounds like Mom." She hesitated and then ventured, "What made you change your mind about asking Mom out?"

A soft, reminiscent smile drifted across her dad's face, his gaze becoming momentarily distant, and she knew he was remembering things she didn't know—parts of her dad's life that quite frankly she was happy not to know about. "I realized the chance of being with your mom was more important to me than any risk." He blinked, sobering, as he met her eyes. "And I never regretted it for a second. Even now, the only thing I regret is not having taken the chance sooner, not having more time with your mom."

Her dad abruptly looked down, fiddling with his fork, and she guessed that he was blinking back tears, her throat closing up, her heart clenching in her chest.

Because she didn't know if she could be that brave or that strong.

Her dad took a few mechanical bites of his food, more to give him an excuse not to talk than because he was still hungry, Kate knew. She did the same, barely tasting the food anymore.

Unhelpfully, her mind flashed back to her dinner with Castle the day before, the other meals they'd shared over the past couple days. The memories were so dangerous, so… seductive (it was the only word that seemed to fit) because she liked spending time with him in a way she couldn't remember feeling about anyone else. And she couldn't help but think that if those meals, the last couple days, were an indication of what it would be like to spend more of her time with Castle, not just at work but outside of it too, she wanted it.

And fine, yes, she wanted him. In her bed, in her life.

Of course her dad chose that moment to look up at her and Kate felt color creep into her cheeks even as she forced herself to meet her dad's eyes, never mind the fact that she had literally just been thinking about Castle, about what it would be like to kiss him, touch him, feel him inside her, above her—no, she was not thinking about sex with Castle when talking to her dad! (Not anymore.)

"Look, Katie…" Her dad paused before continuing, slowly, "Obviously I don't really know Rick Castle and I'm not going to tell you what to do with your life. I just want to make sure that whatever you choose is about what you want, not what you're afraid of. Life is about taking chances sometimes in order to go after what you want and the rewards usually outweigh the risks." He stopped again and reached across the table to rest his hand on hers. "You might have grown up but you're still our fearless Katie-bug, the one who refused to have a nightlight."

She choked a little, a strange sort of gasp escaping her, something that might have been a combination of a laugh and a sob if it had been allowed to grow up.

"And just remember, life never delivers anything that…"

"That we can't handle," she finished with her dad in messy unison and they exchanged brief, watery smiles.

Her dad squeezed her hand before releasing it. "Just think about it, Katie-girl."

She managed a smile. "I will. Thanks, Dad."

Her dad nodded. "Now, how are Javier and Kevin doing?"

Kate answered, falling in with the change in subject with some gratitude.

The rest of their dinner passed in easy conversation, avoiding any more fraught topics, until her dad reiterated his promise to be at Captain Montgomery's funeral, promising he would see her on Tuesday morning as they were saying goodbye.

Afterwards, Kate returned to her apartment and on an impulse, veered to her bookshelf, reaching for Castle's latest book, his apology to her, turning it over to look at the author picture on the back.

But she wasn't really seeing the picture; what she saw instead was the look on his face when she'd told him she liked the book, the smile that had illuminated his entire expression. Proof of how much her opinion mattered to him, how much he cared about her.

Fearless, her dad had called her.

Or extraordinary, to use Castle's word. _You don't give up, you don't back down… _

Maybe it was time to try to be more like the amazing, brave person her dad—and Castle—believed she was. Time to go after what—_who_—she wanted.

Because she did want to be with Castle. She really did.

Strangely, deciding to be brave was somehow made a little easier by the thought of Castle, the memory of his face. How… vulnerable it had been, how vulnerable he was where she was concerned.

If he had the ability to hurt her—which he did, more than she cared to admit—she could hurt him too. There was something reassuring about that. Vulnerability went both ways.

If she and Castle started a relationship, they would both be taking a risk, trusting in the other. Maybe that was how—why—she and Castle might be able to do this, be in a relationship, after all. Maybe...

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: As always, thank you all for reading and reviewing.


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: A somewhat shorter, transitional chapter but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 14_

Castle did not come into the precinct the next day.

Admittedly, it was a Sunday so the precinct was generally quiet and they didn't have an open case or anything but still. Kate glanced at the clock and then towards the elevator for what had to be approximately the thousandth time this morning and tried to tell herself the odd sinking sensation in her stomach wasn't disappointment.

There was no real reason for Castle to come in today and he probably had plans to spend the day with his family or something.

It wasn't that she was disappointed about not seeing him so much as it was missing out on the coffee he brought her.

Oh, who was she trying to kid?

She did miss his coffee too—when had she started to expect that he would bring her coffee?—but his coffee wasn't really the part that brightened up a morning so much. It was him, seeing his smile, the light and warmth in his eyes when he greeted her. The smile, the few words, that were just for her—it was what made his coffee seem different too, more than just a drink, but as evidence of the fact that he had thought about her.

She wasn't sure when she'd gotten so accustomed to having him around again—it had barely been four days, after all—but somehow, it seemed that she had. It was ridiculously fast but he really had stepped neatly back into the space by her side almost as if he'd never left, filling the chair that was once again by her desk. Almost as if he'd always been meant to be there, by her side.

Which was absurd and nonsensical and irrational. She was very used to working alone, without a real partner and only with Ryan and Esposito as her backups. The three of them functioned well together as a team; they didn't need a fourth and she didn't need a partner.

No, she didn't need a partner but at the same time, it was nice to have one. It was nice not to be alone.

On the thought, she found herself thinking of Montgomery, of something the Captain had said to her just days ago. _If this is your spot, I'll stand with you. _

She clamped her lips closed to stifle the sob she felt building in her throat. He had said he would stand with her but in the end, he had not allowed her to stand with him, had not allowed any of them to stand with him as he took his solitary last stand to take down Lockwood and his henchmen.

And for what had to be the billionth time in the last four days, she wondered sickly if she could have saved Montgomery if she'd stayed. If she'd been able to overpower the boys or if they hadn't obeyed the Captain's final order or if Montgomery hadn't decided to make such a sacrifice, could she have saved him if she'd stayed beside him in that hangar? If if if…

She wasn't usually so given to wondering what if—it was futile and never accomplished anything—but now, she couldn't help it.

Because the Captain had given his life, partly in atonement for his past sins, but also mainly to protect her. And she wondered again how and what she could possibly say that would do justice to his sacrifice. At least, her own words at the brief burial ceremony would not need to be extensive, unlike the real eulogy Lt. Hassan would be giving at the funeral service, but she still needed to come up with something, a few sentences at least, and she had no idea what to say. What words could she come up with to do justice to almost a decade of friendship, of mentorship, of teaching? Montgomery had probably been the person who'd had the greatest influence on her in her adult life.

And after a day of thinking about it, Kate still didn't have the slightest idea what she was going to say. Let alone how she would stand up in front of Evelyn Montgomery and the kids and keep her composure as she spoke whatever words she managed to come up with.

Not for the first time, she found herself staring at Castle's chair beside her desk, wondering what he—the writer—would suggest. And he'd been Montgomery's friend too.

_He told me once that he'd seen the potential in you from the beginning… He saw that you were—are—extraordinary… _

The Captain had told her so too. _You're the best I ever trained, the best I've ever seen. _But what she had not told him, what she should have told him, was that she was what he had trained her to be. She was the cop she was because of him, not just what he had taught her about the ins and outs of working a homicide but what he had shown her by example, the way he worked on cases, the way he never reduced victims to crime stats. Kate knew a lot of the way she tried to honor each victim was ingrained in her from her experience with her mom but it was Montgomery who had taught her how to compartmentalize enough so her compassion for the victims and their families didn't get in the way of her objectivity.

She was pulled from her reflections by the sound of her phone ringing and she turned to answer it, getting drawn back into the routine of the work that still needed to get done, but even as she did so, she spared another glance at Castle's empty chair and thought that the day might have been just a little bit easier if he'd been there. To supply her with coffee, to make her smile, just to be there with his presence a visible and tangible assurance that she wasn't alone.

Castle was back in the precinct the next day, showing up early enough that she'd barely had time to wonder if he would show up, and bringing coffee for them both and a bear claw for her. And Kate felt a little gush of happiness bubble up inside her, as if from some secret fountain, when she looked up at the sound of his familiar steps and saw him. Oh, she was glad to see him.

He detoured to the break room to drop off a large box full of what she guessed were breakfast pastries for everyone—she might tease him about bribing people into liking him but she guessed a large part of his provision of breakfast these past few days was also about compassion, because he knew people were grieving over the Captain. Her heart softened and she didn't try to hide her smile of greeting.

"Hey, Castle."

"Top of the morning to you, Detective," was his response, setting her coffee and bear claw on her desk with a little flourish. Naturally, Castle could not simply say, 'hello.'

She hid her smile by taking a long sip of her coffee. She knew it was absurd but it really did seem to taste better than any coffee she made or bought for herself.

"You seem very cheerful this morning," she observed.

He affected surprise. "I don't know what you mean. Aren't I always the personification of good cheer?"

"Not exactly how I'd describe it," she noted dryly, although he wasn't all wrong. "So what has you so chipper today, oh strange one?"

"I wrote yesterday," he announced, in a tone that would have done justice to an announcement about winning a Pulitzer. "Really wrote. I wrote for almost 6 hours and finished up two-plus solid chapters and I have a good sense of where the plot's going from here."

He sounded so pleased and so proud she couldn't quite help but echo his smile. "Good for you," she responded mildly.

Predictably, her low-key response didn't dampen his own enthusiasm at all. He all but bounced in his chair. "I haven't fallen into the Vortex like that in ages. I mean, when I was done, my fingers were cramped, but still, it felt really good to write again. I've still got it."

She wondered if he realized how much his last addition revealed of how deeply his writer's block had bothered him, an admission of vulnerability on his part that she of all people appreciated. But she didn't comment on it. "The Vortex?" was what she asked instead, raising her eyebrows at him. How very Castle-like to give a bout of writing such a dramatic moniker.

"Oh, yeah. It's what Alexis calls it when I go on one of my writing binges."

"I see. So did you run out of inspiration yesterday and now you're here for more?"

He grinned. "Something like that."

"I'll have to check if we have any inspiration in stock for you," she quipped.

He chuckled generously at what even she had to admit was a rather lame joke. "Well, before you check on that, I also come bearing an invitation."

"Oh?" So very like him, to be so dramatic.

"Come over for dinner tonight. You don't have any active cases and you'll need to eat sometime and…" he hesitated and sobered, his tone shifting, "I know tomorrow—the Captain's funeral—will be tough for you so I thought a good dinner might help."

There was the side of Castle she liked best, his kindness. And spending more time with Castle outside of the precinct—she wanted that too. It would provide a chance to move forward in their relationship, or least she hoped it would. "That sounds nice. Thanks, Castle."

He blinked and then beamed. "You will? Great!"

Her heart thudded in her chest. It was such a little thing and he was really the one making a kind gesture to her and yet it made him so happy.

It made her feel a rush of gratitude, not just at the idea of dinner, but in general, to have a friend like him at this time.

"You're right," she found herself admitting quietly. "Tomorrow isn't going to be easy. It's nice to have something to look forward to between now and then."

"I'm glad."

Their eyes met and held and something seemed to arc between them—or maybe that was just what it seemed like to her, distracted, not for the first time, by the deep, steady blue of his eyes.

But then they both heard LT's voice. "Hey, Castle, thanks for the croissant."

The moment, if it had been a moment, was over as Castle looked over to the break room with a smile and a half-wave of acknowledgement. "Anytime."

He shifted a little in his chair, his eyes wandering around the bullpen before settling on the Captain's dark, vacant office. Which she could understand; she found herself looking towards the Captain's office more often than she could count.

"It's weird, not seeing Roy there," he commented, almost to himself.

She suppressed a sigh. "Yeah. I keep expecting to hear his voice calling us to order."

"I can imagine."

"I don't know what to say," she found herself blurting out. Surprising herself but somehow, it occurred to her that Castle was the only person she could talk to about this. She wouldn't turn to her dad about any issues, certainly not after hearing her dad's reasons for going to the funeral, and Lanie hadn't known Captain Montgomery that well so she wouldn't understand. The boys understood but she would never, could never, talk about her own feelings with them since she was technically their superior and anyway, Esposito was not exactly the sort of person to pick as a confidante. No, Castle was the only one. She trusted him and he would understand.

He turned back to her. "What to say?"

"Tomorrow, at his burial," she clarified. She tried and failed for a rueful smile. "I spent most of yesterday trying to come up with something, jotted down some ideas but everything seems so trite." She looked down at her desk, tracing her finger around her badge, clipped to her notepad, the mourning band on it.

She heard his brief sigh. "Yeah, I don't envy you that task."

"What would Nikki Heat say? Any suggestions?"

He considered it for a moment. "Speak the truth. Speak from the heart. That's the best anyone can do." She looked up at him to see him make a wry face. "Easier said than done, I know. Sorry, that wasn't really helpful at all."

"Maybe not but it's not bad advice," she conceded, managing a faint twitch of her lips as a substitute for a smile. Even that faded as she turned to look back at the Captain's dark office. "I keep thinking that I never thanked him," she murmured.

"Thanked him?" Castle repeated quietly, the question careful, trying not to push.

"For all he did for me. I told you he looked me up after finding me down in the records room and after that, he used his influence to request that I was transferred to Homicide. Most of the time, cops have to work their way up, put in the time in traffic, narcotics, vice, before they can work their way up to divisions like Homicide that get the most attention. If it weren't for Captain Montgomery, I could still be pounding the streets in vice but Montgomery got me into Homicide and he trained me, helped me move up the ranks."

"Youngest woman to make detective and the fastest, ever," Castle interjected.

She turned to look at him in surprise, although in hindsight she supposed she shouldn't be.

He met her look with the faint beginning of one of his usual smirks. "What, did you think I didn't know?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

He gave her a look of mock superiority. "Silly Beckett. Do you think I'd ask to shadow just anybody? Of course I'd do my research, due diligence into your background."

Well, put like that… She rolled her eyes a little. "Because of course, you need to be sure that the subject is worthy of your precious time as an unofficial consultant?" she mocked dryly.

Now, he did smirk. "Naturally," he responded airily. He sobered. "Besides, Montgomery mentioned it to me once."

That made her blink and stare at him a second time in as many minutes. "The Captain told you? When?"

"Oh, it was early on, just after I'd started shadowing you. He pulled me aside after I signed my life away with those waivers and warned me that, Mayor or no, you were really the one calling the shots on my shadowing you. Told me that you were the best he had and if it looked like I was going to get in the way of your case closure rate, I'd be out like that." He snapped his fingers.

"Oh. I didn't know," she responded rather lamely.

She hadn't known, hadn't realized how much Captain Montgomery really had been on her side back then. She had been irritated with Montgomery for not putting up enough of a fight, as she'd seen it, to back up her objections to having Castle shadow her, no matter what the Mayor said. She remembered the way Montgomery had smoothly, even smilingly, avoided her when she'd tried to corner him to complain, the way he'd reminded her of the value of positive press.

And she remembered too what Montgomery had said when she had told him, rather defiantly, that she had kicked Castle out of the precinct for good for looking into her mom's case. She'd expected an argument from Montgomery but hadn't received one. Montgomery had agreed, no questions asked. The closest he had come to arguing with her about it or expressing his opinion was a mild comment that he'd thought Castle had been good for her and the team, that Castle had made things more fun—an admission Kate had been in no mood to make at the time and, if anyone aside from Captain Montgomery had said it, would have vociferously denied but because it had been Montgomery, Kate had bitten her lip and only internally denied it. But the one sentence was all and Montgomery had not mentioned Castle to her again.

But it belatedly occurred to her that Montgomery had not been quite so willing to let that be the end of Kate's short-lived friendship of sorts with Castle. Instead, she could see now that the Captain had been something of an _éminence grise_. He had kept in contact with Castle, kept Castle at least minimally informed about her life, had called Castle during the Dick Coonan case for the money to pay off Rathborne.

And—most of all, Kate realized now—the Captain had left that letter for Castle along with the one to her. Thinking back, her mind clearer, Kate could see that the Captain's letter had been guaranteed to make Kate contact Castle. She knew Captain Montgomery, knew the way he planned things out, played his hand in a way to achieve his desired result. Looking back, she could see the Captain's hand, his intent, clearly. Even if Castle had not returned to the precinct of his own volition on finding out about Montgomery, the letter meant that Kate would have had to contact Castle. And then of course, in Montgomery's letter to her, he had told her that Castle cared about her.

Oh. Oh god, Captain. Kate clamped her lips closed to choke down the lump of emotion forming in her throat, ducking her head as she shut her eyes against the sudden sting of tears. She had been thinking of Castle's return, his presence in her life right now, when she needed a friend, as a gift of sorts, a boon from fate or something. But it occurred to her that it was another example of the Captain looking out for her to the end. He had known she would need a friend and he had ensured she would have one, that she would have to contact Castle and, knowing Castle the way Montgomery had, Montgomery would have been confident that Castle would be the friend Kate needed.

Castle had come to the precinct of his own volition, of course, making Montgomery's plan ultimately surplus to requirements—and Kate wasn't indifferent to what that indicated about Castle's feelings—but it didn't change Montgomery's intent.

Montgomery could not have predicted everything about how Castle would reclaim his place by her side but in the most general sense, Kate was sure that Montgomery had, in fact, planned for her to have Castle's support, his friendship, in the immediate aftermath of Montgomery's death.

Oh god. She was glad—so very glad—that she had told Captain Montgomery that she forgave him for his role in the events leading to her mother's murder but it occurred to her with a fresh spasm of grief that she hated that the last time she'd talked to the Captain had involved him trying to make amends to her, had placed Montgomery in the role of wrongdoer and Kate in the morally superior position. Not because Montgomery had not done wrong—he had and Kate was still reeling over the revelation of what Montgomery had done—but because it was not a true representation of Kate's relationship with the Captain, of the real balance of good and bad that had passed between them over the space of years.

What was it Montgomery had said about his friend, the former DA, a couple months ago when it had been revealed how the DA had illegally suppressed exculpatory evidence in the Addison murder? That the DA's mistake should not be allowed to erase all the good he had done.

Kate hadn't realized at the time how personally relevant the sentiment would have been to Montgomery but now she did. And she understood. Montgomery had said similar things at other times, that people were more than the worst thing they had ever done and very, very few people were all good or all bad.

Whatever Montgomery's mistakes, his past crimes, Montgomery had spent his life trying to atone for it. And to Kate herself, Montgomery had always been an influence for good. He had taught her, trained her, looked out for her. And how she was going to miss him!

"Kate?" Castle's gentle murmur of her name had her looking up to meet his eyes, the compassion and the understanding in them.

She knew he would be able to see her grief in her expression but for once, she wasn't sure she could have hidden it and with him, it occurred to her she didn't need to.

"I just… wish I'd told Montgomery how much he'd helped me, wish I'd thanked him for everything he did for me. I wish I'd told him how much it meant to me." She hadn't. It wasn't exactly a cop's habit to talk openly about their emotions and even aside from that, Kate had never been very good at expressing gratitude like that.

"He knew." His voice was quiet but firm, not allowing for even a shred of doubt.

"How can you be so sure?"

He shrugged, although his expression belied the casualness of the gesture. "Because I knew Roy. He was nobody's fool and he knew you as well as anyone. Besides, the way he looked out for you, trusted you—he was a cop, not some wide-eyed innocent. There's no way he would have trusted you so much if he hadn't known the loyalty went both ways."

Oddly, or perhaps not, his more cynical reason convinced her in a way his earlier assurance had not. Captain Montgomery had been a cop to his bones and Kate was a cop too, which meant she knew as well as anyone that cops didn't trust easily, did not tend to take much on faith.

"I guess you're right."

Castle pasted on a look of mock dismay. "You only _guess_ I'm right?" He made a face at her before he cupped his hands over his mouth and pitched his voice into a passable imitation of Darth Vader to intone, "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

A laugh bubbled out of her of its own volition. The man was ridiculous and irrepressible—and so endearing too, somehow, the way he made her laugh. "Geek."

As if her laugh, rare in these past few days, had drawn their attention, the boys joined them.

"Hey, Castle, nice croissants but what's with not bringing plates or butter or jam?" Ryan started.

"Yeah, what are we, savages?" Espo joined in.

Castle made the facial equivalent of a shrug, even as mischief danced in his eyes. "If the shoe fits."

Kate snorted, sitting back in her chair, amusement and something that felt dangerously close to affection welling up in her chest. The banter between the boys and Castle was so familiar and a good sign. Just like old times.

She exchanged quick glances with the boys before directing a smirk at Castle. "Oh, come on, Castle, you're a writer and you can't come up with a better comeback than that cliché?"

"I could have," Castle retorted with a supercilious air. "I just didn't think these two were worthy of my witty efforts."

Ryan turned to Espo. "You know, I think we've just been insulted."

"You're right, bro." Espo turned back to Castle. "You want to go a couple rounds with me, writer boy?" This time, Kate could see his show of bristling was just that, a show. Espo always was more comfortable playing the role of the bad cop.

"Don't you boys have some actual work to do?" Kate interceded, not because she had any fear Espo meant it but because, if left unchecked, she had no doubt the macho jibes would degenerate even further and go on for some time. She spent her life in a mostly male workplace; she didn't need to see another show of masculine posturing.

"Just paperwork." Espo made a face.

"Might as well get it done. It's not like you'll have time tomorrow," she advised unthinkingly, only for the reminder of what tomorrow would bring to boomerang back and hit her like a gut punch. Montgomery's funeral.

They all sobered at the reminder and the boys nodded at her, their expressions showing just a hint of the empathy and grief they all felt, before they returned to their desks.

Leaving a long moment of heavy silence behind.

"Anything I can do to help?" Castle asked quietly.

She mustered up a wan smile. "No, but thanks for offering." The offer, the gesture alone, helped.

He gave another small shrug but his expression was still sober, sincere. "Always."

She returned to her paperwork with a little ember of warmth glowing in her chest. He said 'always,' and at that moment, she believed him.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Thank you all for reading and reviewing!


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: Apologies for not posting last week but RL got in the way and also, this story is reaching a critical point and I wanted to spend more time to try to get it right. And now, without further ado, the next chapter….

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 15_

Kate could not have said she accomplished much actual work that day. But she thought she could be excused for once because of what she did manage to accomplish. She disappeared into the stairwell with her notepad for a couple hours that afternoon and returned with her plan of the tribute she would pay to the Captain at the burial ceremony. It would be a short speech but she wasn't sure she could keep her composure for a long one and thankfully, for the burial ceremony, only a short speech was necessary.

She returned to the bullpen armed with her usual composure, clinging to her Detective Beckett persona if the truth were told, and only a very sharp-eyed observer could have seen the faint, tell-tale trace of the tears she'd shed lingering around her eyes. And thankfully, the only sharp-eyed observer present was Castle, both the boys fortunately busy elsewhere.

Castle, who she knew did notice the traces of her tears, but who had apparently learned some discretion and didn't comment on it or betray any sign of having seen it at all, except that shortly after she returned to her desk, he retreated to the break room and returned to place a mug of coffee on her desk, complete with foam art in the shape of a smiley face.

It was silly, how much that piece of foam art, made her feel warmed clear through, even more than she was by the heat of the coffee itself. Such a small thing, really, but at the moment, it felt like everything.

It surprised her a little to realize how much she was looking forward to the thought of dinner in Castle's loft with his family. Kate was well aware that she wasn't usually a people person and certainly not when she was hurt or grieving. In such times, she tended to retreat into herself, like an animal into its burrow, not wanting to be with other people. But apparently, surprisingly, Castle did not seem to count as "other people," somehow.

He was just… Castle and not only did she not mind the thought of spending more time with him but she actively wanted to spend time with him. Which was something she wasn't sure she'd felt about any man before.

It helped too that, somehow, she was comfortable in his loft, felt at home in it, she realized with some surprise as she stepped into it that evening. It was all the more surprising because it wasn't as if she'd spent that much time in his loft before. Sure, she had come over a few times back when Castle had first started shadowing her, for poker nights and she'd even had breakfast here that one time, the morning after the MADT fundraiser when she'd stopped by to return Martha's borrowed jewelry. To say nothing of dinner on Thursday, when she had told Castle about Montgomery's past and what had led to his death. But really, the handful of occasions she had come over before did not explain how at home she felt but somehow, she did.

It might be explained, at least in part, by the fact that the loft was so very welcoming, its atmosphere warm, even cozy, because in spite of the wealth that was apparent in its size and its furnishings, it was very much a home. Kate was trained enough in evaluating her surroundings to recognize a happy family home when she saw one and that was what the loft was, full of evidence of the familial love between Castle and his family, from all the pictures scattered around, to the things posted up on the refrigerator door.

And of course, there were its residents.

"Oh, Katherine darling, you're here! How delightful," Martha exclaimed, turning away from the oven to sweep over to greet Kate with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She was, somewhat surprisingly, wearing an apron, white but trimmed in hot pink that should have clashed terribly with her red hair but somehow just barely managed to avoid it, and with the word, Diva, scrawled in cursive across the front. Kate suppressed a smile. Even wearing an apron, Martha Rodgers had her own inimitable style.

"Hi, Martha. Thank you for having me."

Martha waved the thanks aside. "Oh, nonsense, darling. You're always welcome." She sobered and met Kate's eyes searchingly. "How are you holding up?"

Kate's somewhat forced smile of greeting slipped a little. She opened her lips to respond with her usual, I'm fine, but found herself admitting, instead, "I'm managing." Not quite a complete confession of her emotional state but still more of an acknowledgement of her vulnerability than she usually admitted to. It was something about the warmth and directness of Martha's question and yes, something about the fact that Martha was a mom that made it hard to outright lie.

Martha nodded, touching a gentle finger to Kate's chin. "Chin up, kiddo. It'll get easier."

Kate's smile became more genuine. She would never have expected to like being called a kid but the genuine affection behind Martha's use of the endearment made it impossible not to respond in kind. "Thank you."

Martha turned away from Kate with another of her characteristically dramatic gestures. "And in the meantime, the show must go on. Ah, Richard, since you're finally home, I wanted to mention that Alexis is upstairs in her room." Her tone made it sound as if Castle had been expected home hours, if not days, ago and Kate suppressed a smile as Castle grimaced a little.

"I assumed she was," Castle responded with a show of patience.

"Yes, well, I wanted to mention that she seemed a little subdued when she arrived home earlier. I didn't want to pry…"

"Since when?" Castle muttered, not quite under his breath.

"—pry until you got home and could talk to her yourself," Martha finished, ignoring Castle, who had the grace to make an apologetic face and buss Martha's cheek.

"Thank you for mentioning it," he murmured, moving to stand at the foot of the stairs. "Alexis?" he called, raising his voice slightly. "I'm home now and dinner is almost ready."

Martha took that as her cue and after motioning Kate to sit down on the couch, turned to return to the kitchen.

It was almost a full minute before Kate registered the sound of Alexis's footsteps on the stairs and frowned to herself as she belatedly realized what was off about the sound was that they sounded… measured, nothing like the usual quick steps of the teenage girl at home, even in Kate's limited experience. And her instinct was corroborated by the way Castle straightened up a little, his shoulders tensing a little, as he clearly noted the same thing.

Alexis appeared on the stairs, looking her usual self and even smiling, but Kate noted that Castle didn't appear reassured—and she wasn't sure how she could be so sure of that just from Castle's posture but she was.

"There you are, pumpkin," Castle greeted his daughter easily, tugging her into his arms and dropping a kiss on her forehead. "How was school today?"

"It was fine." Alexis smoothly slid out of her dad's embrace and moved towards Kate. "Hi, Detective Beckett. Grams mentioned you'd be joining us for dinner."

"Hi, Alexis. I'm glad to be here."

"Captain Montgomery's funeral is tomorrow, right?" Alexis asked quietly.

"Yeah, it is," Kate confirmed.

"I'm sorry. It must be hard," Alexis murmured.

The words were sincere but Kate had the strangest sense that Alexis was more making conversation for the sake of it.

"Alexis?" Castle joined his daughter on the couch.

"Yeah, Dad?" Alexis offered him a small smile.

For once, however, her smile didn't appear to affect Castle. "Is something wrong?"

"Why do you ask, Dad?" the girl parried smoothly.

He narrowed his eyes fractionally. "Alexis."

There was a faint, barely-there edge to his voice, for the first time in Kate's hearing, as he spoke his daughter's name and Kate had the sudden sense that she was intruding, did her best to disappear or at least, appear blind, deaf, and dumb to her surroundings. She doubted she was very successful but it didn't appear as if either Castle or Alexis was paying attention to her at the moment.

Castle's expression softened. "Sweetie, what is it?"

Alexis's eyes slid down, away from her dad's for a moment, and then returned. "I got my physics test back."

The concern in Castle's face eased and he ventured a tiny, cautious smile. "Oh, okay. How did you do?" He pulled a face of mock horror. "Wait, don't tell me, did you actually get an A minus?"

Alexis's expression collapsed into a frown. "It's not funny, Dad. I got a B minus!"

Kate sternly suppressed a smile since from Alexis's tone and her expression, it was clear that as far as Alexis was concerned, a B- might as well be a failing grade.

Castle blinked, his expression shifting into seriousness and some concern. "Oh. That's… not what I was expecting. You've never received anything lower than a B+ in physics, have you?"

His tone was mild, a simple assertion of fact, but it didn't appear to register that way with Alexis. "No. I studied and I thought I knew the material but I guess I didn't and then I got the test back and I totally messed up. And this test was an important one, the last one before our final in two weeks, and now, it's going to bring my entire average down and I don't have time to make it up." From Alexis's tone, this was a tragedy of Titanic proportions.

"I'm sorry. I know you studied hard and tried your best. You always do," Castle responded soothingly. "It's only one test, though, and you've done so well in physics all semester long so it might not be so bad."

Alexis didn't look comforted. "It is. Mrs. Lazenby said the test was an important one and then I screwed it up. And the counselors said that our grades for this year are the most important ones for college admissions so because I messed up, my GPA will go down and maybe I won't get into Stanford and all my plans will be ruined!"

Kate bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep any trace of a smile from escaping. She had always thought that Alexis was the level-headed one of the Castle family but she was starting to see that apparently, the penchant for melodrama and hyperbole had not, in fact, skipped the teen at all. And for all her sense, Alexis was quite obviously still a teenager, with all that entailed.

"Alexis, pumpkin," Castle began gently, "I think you might be taking this a little too seriously. One test isn't likely to ruin your entire grade so completely, not with how well you've done all semester long. And I think your GPA is high enough, your physics grade shouldn't make too much of a difference."

"What would you know about it?" Alexis flared. "You were the one who slacked off all through high school so of course you wouldn't take this seriously!"

Castle's features seemed to tighten, his expression becoming uncharacteristically closed, but Kate was watching and she caught the quick flash of helplessness, underlain with hurt. For a fleeting second, he looked more lost than a grown man, especially one who was as clever and, yes, strong, as Castle was should ever look. Lost and starkly alone.

Kate abruptly abandoned her attempt to imitate a statue.

Obeying an impulse she hadn't really expected but couldn't deny, she interceded. No, more than that, she actively interfered in something that was, in all honesty, none of her business because it really was something between Castle and his daughter and she had no place and no right to step in. But step in, she did. Surprising herself because, if anything, her usual instinct was to avoid uncomfortable, emotional confrontations if at all possible and certainly, she didn't usually seek to interfere in them. But somehow—and she wasn't sure exactly when or how it had happened—she could not see Castle, of all people, look so alone and not help.

"You know, Castle, I think I could use a glass of wine, if you don't mind," Kate spoke up, forcing herself to sound bland, as if she was oblivious to the tension and simply accepting an offer for a drink.

He almost startled and blinked at her as if he had, as she'd rather suspected, momentarily forgotten she was there. His glance bounced from his scowling daughter to Kate, who met his eyes, and she saw the second something like comprehension dawned on him, that she had a purpose behind her apparent obliviousness. "Oh, sure, it's no problem," he agreed, speaking a little slowly.

He hesitated for a split second before he suited action to the words and stood up to head to the corner where the wine cooler resided.

Leaving Kate and Alexis in an uncomfortable silence. Alexis had lowered her gaze until she was studying the floor as if finding the secrets of the world written on the hardwood.

Kate knew quite well that Alexis was not expecting or even wanting to talk about her test score with Kate. It wasn't as if Kate had that sort of relationship with the girl—or much of a personal relationship at all—so there really was no precedent for this.

Of course, deciding to intervene was one thing but knowing what to say when faced with a teenage girl, an upset teenage girl, was another. Kate hesitated, studying Alexis's bent head. She might not personally know Alexis very well but she'd listened to Castle talk about his daughter often enough that she did feel as if she knew Alexis. She knew how close Castle was to his daughter, one reason why she'd never expected Alexis would ever lose her temper with Castle, which had been naïve of her, she supposed, since Alexis was still a teenager after all. She doubted there was a single teenager in the country who had never blown up at a family member at least once.

She remembered, too, things Castle had said about Alexis being an over-achiever, a perfectionist, and Kate felt a surge of empathy and an odd sense of something like kinship with the girl as it occurred to her, belatedly, that she and Alexis were actually not that different in some ways.

"I once got a C on a presentation in my English class," Kate remembered aloud, as if apropos of nothing in particular.

There was a moment of silence as Alexis absorbed this. "Really? What happened?" she ventured, blue eyes peeping up to glance at Kate.

Kate made a show of glancing around and lowered her voice. "Not a lot of people know this but, well, I get stage fright," she admitted, as if confessing to a social solecism on par with having a taste for cannibalism.

Where she got this instinct for such drama was beyond her—she really might have spent too much time with Castle lately—but she was rewarded as Alexis flashed a small smile.

"We were studying Shakespeare," Kate explained, "and the teacher told us our grade for that unit was going to be based on a presentation where we had to memorize one of the soliloquies, at least 25 lines long, and then recite it in front of the class with points for how much feeling we put into the recitation. He wanted to make sure we understood the meaning of the language." Kate made a face that wasn't feigned at the memory.

"I once had to memorize a long poem and recite it," Alexis offered. "Grams helped." Her expression softened.

Kate could easily imagine Martha being in her element helping her granddaughter prepare for such a recitation. Sadly, her own younger self had not had the benefit of an actress grandmother. "I memorized one of the soliloquies from _Macbeth_ pretty easily and thought I was ready but then, when I actually stood up at the front of the class, I panicked."

"Did you forget the lines?" Alexis asked with ready sympathy, once more the sweet teenager Kate was more familiar with.

"Not quite. I remembered the lines but I was in such a hurry to finish and sit down again that I rushed through the speech, talking way too fast, and that made me nervous too so I mixed up a few words here and there." She grimaced. "It was really bad. I think the teacher was being nice even to give me a C. I was so upset at myself that when I got home that day, I cried."

"Oh…" Alexis breathed, her eyes widening at the admission. Apparently, it had never quite occurred to Alexis that Kate might have cried over such a thing. Kate's lips twitched a little. Well, at least someone still thought of her as the stoic, imperturbable Detective Beckett.

Kate paused, having to force herself to continue. She hadn't fully thought this through when she started, had not realized just how much she would need to reveal. But she trusted Alexis too, she realized. "My mom was the one to talk me out of being upset. She told me that everyone fails sometimes and that it's not always a bad thing either." She paused, ducking her head to look at the floor, remembering the way her mom had slipped into her room and perched on the side of her bed. Remembered the way her mom had gently combed her fingers through the young Katie's hair. If she closed her eyes, she swore she could almost smell her mom's so-familiar and well-remembered scent, the combination of her lotion and her perfume. But then she blinked and pushed the memories aside. Reminiscing wasn't the point here.

Alexis made a rueful grimace. "I hate not being good at something."

Kate gave the girl a small smile. "Yeah, me too," she acknowledged. "But my mom told me that the important thing is how we act after our failures, if we learn from them and move on and not dwell on them for too long or let our failures define us."

"I guess… I can ask Mrs. Lazenby if there are any ways I could get extra credit to help me make up for the test," Alexis considered.

Kate gave the girl a small smile of encouragement. She'd had enough faith in Alexis's sense to know it wouldn't take much to prod Alexis into looking ahead and thinking more practically. "Exactly. After my presentation, I worked doubly hard in English the rest of the semester to make sure I did well enough to pull up my grade in it. And I'm sure you'll study even more for your physics final to make sure you do well on it, right?"

"Definitely," Alexis nodded, lifting her chin, her eyes gleaming with determination, and Kate saw her resemblance to Castle, the Castle stubbornness appearing.

For the most part, aside from the blue eyes, Alexis did not obviously resemble her dad but for a moment, Kate could see a sort of reflection of Castle in the girl's face, an indefinable resemblance that had more to do with personality and character than it did physical features.

Something inside her softened at the sight, a reaction that surprised her a little. Kate had always liked the girl for her own sake, approving of her obvious intelligence and sense and good manners, but now, it was as if her liking Alexis took on an additional warmth, less for Alexis's sake alone than for her dad's. This was Castle's child, the daughter that was the center of his world, and what was important to him had somehow become important to Kate too.

Kate was suddenly very glad that she had obeyed her unthinking impulse to step in and help Alexis—and Castle—herself. It felt like… a first step, or something, towards the relationship she had decided to try for with Castle. A strange, very belated, recognition that there was no way she could become more involved with Castle without also inevitably becoming more involved with his family too.

Kate allowed herself to relax and smile more fully. "Good thinking."

There was a moment's pause and Kate watched expressions play across the girl's face. Kate obviously did not know Alexis nearly as well as she knew the girl's father but Alexis was young enough, ingenuous enough, that her emotions were fairly transparent. So it was easy to catch the point at which the girl acknowledged she might have overreacted and that she'd done so before an audience, as it were, and then, she saw the shift into solemnity.

"Detective Beckett?" Alexis's tone was careful, almost shy.

"You can call me Kate, Alexis," Kate offered.

"Kate." The girl paused and then went on more quietly, "I should have said something sooner but… I'm really sorry about your mom."

Kate nodded, managing a tight curve of her lips. "Thank you, Alexis."

"I…" Alexis hesitated. "I… don't see my mom much but at least I still have her and I know I can see her. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you."

Oh, damn. Kate fought back the tightness of her throat, the way her heart squeezed. She hadn't expected this, the way Alexis would try for empathy. It was so… sweet, made the otherwise trite statement of condolence so much more real, sincere. And she recognized too that Alexis was offering a personal confidence of her own to acknowledge Kate's providing a small glimpse into her own past. To say nothing of the girl's insight in using the present tense, not commenting on how hard it 'must have been' for Kate to lose her mom but how hard it still was. Kate had received enough condolences over the last decade to know how rare that was; most people, understandably, referred to the loss of her mom as an event in the past, one that was, by implication, over. Few people referred to it as a continuing, ongoing one.

Kate swallowed. "Yeah," she confirmed quietly. She managed a faint smile. "But I still have my dad and that helps."

She hadn't meant it as a reproach but she saw the flash of remorse in Alexis's eyes before the girl gave her a small smile. "Yeah, I can imagine."

Kate and Alexis exchanged a look and quick smiles in a moment of fellowship. Oddly, Kate realized, she had never before thought about the other similarity she and Alexis shared, that they were both daughters of a single father. The circumstances were obviously very different but the commonality remained.

Alexis turned her head to look behind Kate, towards the kitchen, or more accurately, to look at her dad.

Kate knew that Castle would have already poured their glasses of wine but he hadn't brought them over because he'd been waiting for her and Alexis to finish talking. Kate didn't need eyes in the back of her head to know that Castle must be in the kitchen, ostensibly helping Martha finish with dinner preparations but also just keeping himself busy. She had sensed, or felt somehow, Castle's quick glances over at the two of them. She knew him well enough to trust that, no matter his curiosity, he would have stayed carefully out of earshot, would not have eavesdropped.

And as if Alexis's glance had been his cue, which it really had been, she sensed Castle returning. Sensed it a moment before she heard as Castle not-accidentally made the wine glasses ping against each other, to provide notice of his return.

"Here's your wine, Beckett," he announced with studied nonchalance, as if he was just being the good host.

Kate turned to meet his eyes, offering him a small smile of reassurance, but all she said was, "Thanks, Castle. Is dinner almost ready? I am getting hungry."

"It'll just be a couple minutes." He glanced at Alexis. "Could you set the table, please, Alexis?"

"Sure," Alexis agreed readily. "Excuse me, Kate."

The girl immediately stood up to go to the kitchen but patted Castle's arm lightly as she passed, an unspoken apology, and Castle's expression eased even further.

Kate took a sip of her wine as Castle's eyes followed his daughter to the kitchen, a trace of concern still lingering. "She's a good kid," she spoke up.

Castle turned to meet her eyes, his expression softening into his 'dad' look, as he sat down in Alexis's vacated spot. "Yeah, I know I'm biased but I think she's pretty great too," he quipped. His quick smirk faded as he sobered, hesitating, his gaze darting to his daughter and then back to her.

He wanted to know what she and Alexis had talked about, wanted to know Alexis was as restored to her usual self as she'd appeared. It belatedly occurred to Kate that this must be somewhat strange to Castle, having to turn to someone else for information on Alexis's state of mind. She realized too how much trust Castle had shown in leaving her to talk to Alexis alone. Admittedly, Alexis's little fit of temper had partly encouraged him to go but still, Kate realized it couldn't have been easy for him. Aside from Martha, she rather doubted Castle had ever really relied on anyone else for help with Alexis.

"She'll do just fine, Castle," Kate assured, answering his unspoken question. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who's not family." Or put another way, the very fact that Alexis was still on relatively formal terms with Kate meant that the girl's own good manners ensured she would listen to Kate calmly. Alexis was not comfortable enough with Kate to lose her temper.

"Thanks," was all Castle said in response but his tone and his look spoke eloquently enough.

And at any rate, even if he had wanted to answer at more length, Martha's voice forestalled any further conversation as she announced, "Dinner is served. Richard, do bring Katherine to the table."

Castle made a wry face as he stood up and offered Kate a hand, in half-teasing obedience to Martha's direction.

Kate, of course, didn't need help to stand up on her own and it wasn't the sort of gesture she normally appreciated or would have accepted but somehow, she found, it was different when it was Castle. She rested her hand in his as she stood up, not for support, but just because. She liked the way his hand enclosed hers, the warmth of it, the little thrill of reaction she swore she felt all the way up her arm.

Maybe that was why she didn't release his hand immediately but let her hand linger in his for a moment until she caught Martha's quick, somewhat speculative glance.

Kate felt herself flush and then she did release Castle's hand as she moved towards the dining table. Right, she and Castle were not alone, his family there with them. So whatever might happen between her and Castle, it couldn't happen now. Not yet, at least, but maybe later…

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you all for taking the time to read and review this story, especially in these times.


	16. Chapter 16

Author's Note: A long chapter that I know everyone has been waiting for.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 16_

Dinner turned out to be a relatively simple meal, a casserole, salad, and bread rolls. Kate had rather wondered because she hadn't before seen Martha spend much time in the kitchen and not to cook; Castle had seemed like the cook of the family, with Alexis's assistance.

"This smells delicious, Martha," Kate commented sincerely.

"Thank you, darling."

But as if Castle had somehow sensed Kate's thought, he leaned towards Kate. "Consider yourself lucky that my mother decided to keep it simple tonight," he advised her, not quite _sotto voce_. "The results aren't nearly so palatable when my mother decides to be ambitious in the kitchen."

"Don't listen to him, Katherine. I am a better cook than he says I am."

Alexis coughed. "Well, there was that time the fire department came."

Martha shot Alexis an '_et tu, Brute'_ look that Julius Caesar could not have bettered before she turned to Kate. "That was only once!"

"Twice," Castle coughed into his hand.

Kate bit her lip to keep from laughing as Martha huffed.

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge since you've had some culinary mishaps of your own over the years, Richard."

Castle made a face. "Thank you for the reminder, Mother, but I'd remind you that I did do all the cooking for me and Alexis for years and we're both fine."

"Now that your eyebrows have grown back," Alexis commented with an innocent smile but a mischievous glint in her eyes as she looked at her dad.

"I sense a story in that. What happened to his eyebrows?" Kate interjected, smirking at Castle, who (of course) took the opportunity to wiggle his eyebrows at her as if to demonstrate they were in fine form.

"It was nothing, really," Castle hurriedly answered.

"Nothing, except that Dad decided to deep fry a turkey with some unfortunate results," Alexis inserted, smirking at her dad, "for the turkey, the fryer, and Dad's eyebrows."

Castle pulled a face at Alexis but his eyes brightened at her teasing him as she usually did, another sign that all was well between them again. "It was just the one time," he sighed dramatically. "Anyway, Mother," he added rather loudly, "thank you for cooking. Everything tastes fine, for once."

"I'm overwhelmed by your gratitude for slaving away in the kitchen for hours," Martha responded dryly. "I promise, Katherine, I did try to teach him better manners than this."

"Everything tastes great and I, for one, appreciate it. Thank you, Martha," Kate smiled.

Martha waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense, dear. We're always happy to have you here." Her tone was light and dramatic as usual but there was a touch of extra softness in her smile and Kate understood that, sincere as her words might be, Martha was also thinking about what would happen tomorrow, about Captain Montgomery's funeral. Providing Kate with a home-cooked meal the night before she had to bury her mentor as a gesture of caring. In that way families did, the way mothers did.

"Especially since you have a talent for keeping Richard on his best behavior so he doesn't get into nearly as much trouble as he usually does," Martha added with a pointed look across the table at Castle.

"Thank you, Mother, since you are the one who raised me," Castle returned ironically.

Alexis heaved a mock sigh. "Sorry, Kate, I tell them to play nice but it doesn't work."

"I spend most of my days in a police precinct; believe me when I say I hear worse every day," Kate assured the girl, smiling at the back-and-forth exchange between the Castle family. It was a little strange, perhaps, but she knew them well enough by now to expect it, and it was wonderful too, because the teasing quips were redolent with so much shared history and affection, evidence of just how at ease all three were with each other. The sort of ease that came from trust, from a love that was so unshakable that they could exchange such barbs without a shred of unease that it might be taken the wrong way.

And they had brought Kate into it too, included her as if she was part of this charmed family circle of theirs.

It was new and yet so familiar to her, brought back memories of her own family's dinners when she'd been growing up. Oh, she and her parents had been quieter, if only because her dad was not nearly as outgoing a personality as either Martha or Castle, but they'd done their share of teasing and laughing. She remembered the sound of her mom's laughter, remembered her younger self and her dad exchanging looks of shared amusement at some of her mom's characteristic gestures, the way her mom, generally so tidy, never could seem to eat a roast chicken without making a mess.

Her throat got a little tight with the memories but for the first time in a while, it was easier for her to smile through it. Easier to smile at the memories when she was surrounded not so much by proof of how much she had lost but of evidence that maybe, there was still the possibility for more. That she could find again some measure of what she'd lost.

Because of Castle.

She glanced at him as his laugh rang out at something Alexis said, their gazes momentarily catching, and somehow, just the sight of his eyes, bright with humor, his smile, set off little flutters of reaction inside her.

Yes, she liked him, was attracted to him, wanted to be with him.

But at that moment, it occurred to her that another facet of her hopes, her wishes, for more with Castle had to do with his family too. With Martha, so vibrant and colorful and open-hearted, with Alexis, so smart and kind. She didn't like Castle because of his family but it meant something that she liked his family too.

She hadn't felt anything approaching such ease with Will's parents the couple times she'd met them, she abruptly found herself remembering. It wasn't that she hadn't liked Will's parents; they had been perfectly nice people, friendly, even welcoming. But due to whatever inexplicable alchemy it was that explained why some people just connected and others only remained courteous strangers as it were, no matter how many times they met, somehow Kate had never felt entirely at ease with the Sorensons and a niggling little instinct inside her had told her that she never would. So different from her reaction to Castle's family.

The rest of their dinner passed as enjoyably as Kate would have expected. Martha was in fine fettle, recounting dramatic and at times hilarious tales from her acting days, ably egged on by Castle with his teasing interjections.

After dinner, Martha swanned out of the loft citing plans with friends, giving Kate another hug in farewell, along with a quiet assurance that she would be at the funeral tomorrow. With Martha gone, Kate, Castle, and Alexis worked together to finish cleaning up, or more accurately, really, Castle and Alexis did most of the work while Kate did what little she could before being almost physically led out of the kitchen by Alexis while being told by Castle that she should enjoy her status as a guest and simply relax.

Fortunately for Kate's peace of mind, the clean-up didn't take long between Castle and Alexis. They had not talked aside from the occasional request or thanks but after Alexis finished drying her hands, she came up to Castle's side, going up on her toes to buss his cheek and then resting her head on his shoulder in a gesture reminiscent of a younger child.

His expression softened as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Thanks for the help, pumpkin," he said casually.

"Sorry for blowing up at you earlier, Dad," Alexis responded quietly.

"It's okay," Castle assured her, bending to kiss her bright hair in immediate absolution. "You haven't hit your quota for explosions yet so you've got a ways to go before you hit the limit but when you do hit the limit, I'll throw you into the dungeon," he finished in mock warning.

Alexis grinned. "You don't have a dungeon, Dad."

He faked a look of shock. "I don't? I thought dungeons came standard issue with Manhattan apartments. Remind me to complain to my realtor."

Kate hid a smile as Alexis laughed. So typically Castle to immediately set out to make his daughter laugh again. "Dad, you're being silly again."

In response, Castle pasted on a look of exaggerated gravity. "Up to your room now, young lady. You have homework to do," he instructed in a fake deep voice.

His daughter didn't miss a beat, throwing him a snappy salute. "Yes, sir." Yes, definitely Castle's daughter.

Only for Kate to be surprised immediately afterward as Alexis turned to throw her arms around Kate in a hug. "It was good to talk to you, Kate. Have a good night." She drew back, sobering. "I'm sorry about Captain Montgomery."

Kate recovered herself to give the girl a quick smile. "Thanks, Alexis, you have a good night too and enjoy the rest of your week at school."

With a last smile and a small wave, Alexis ran lightly up the stairs and a moment later came the soft sound of her door closing.

And then there were two.

Castle gestured with one hand to invite Kate to sit down, an invitation she accepted by sinking onto the couch, taking a sip of wine before placing her glass on the coffee table. He joined her on the couch with his own glass of wine and they exchanged faint smiles, a brief silence that was somehow both comfortable and charged settling between them.

"I've never seen Alexis upset before," Kate broke the silence by commenting, idly.

Castle's lips quirked into a wry smile. "If you thought that Alexis was some kind of angel, immune to such negative emotions as anger, I'm afraid you're wrong, although I admit that even I didn't quite realize how wrong until a few years ago. Tonight was really nothing. You should have seen the way she reamed me out when I tried to investigate her new violin teacher last year or a few months ago when I may have GPS tracked her phone."

"You GPS tracked her phone?"

Castle grimaced. "Yeah, not one of my better ideas, to say the least. Alexis tore me a new one for that."

"Well, she's obviously forgiven you," Kate offered with some sympathy. She might not have ever seen Castle and Alexis on the outs but she could imagine how much it would bother Castle.

"Yeah, Alexis is good at that, forgiving me when I do or say stupid things, just like she did tonight."

So like Castle to be self-deprecating even about this. "For once, Castle, I wouldn't say you said anything wrong today. She was just upset and took it out on you."

He sighed, tipping his head back for a moment. "I suppose. I was just trying to make her feel better about her grade. She's such a perfectionist. And sometimes I forget just how seriously she tends to take everything." He shrugged a little, lifting his hands in a gesture of uncertainty. "I don't know where she gets it really."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," she told him gently and sincerely. Again, it occurred to her that Castle was a single parent, had been alone in dealing with the responsibility and the worry of raising Alexis. He was such a good dad and she found she didn't like seeing him doubt that, didn't like seeing his vulnerability. "What about when you're editing your writing? Haven't you gone back to make sure you got a certain word or phrase just right?" She didn't know this for sure but it seemed a reasonable guess, especially knowing as she did how seriously he took his writing, how much work he put into it.

"That's because I'm a writer. Worrying over diction is part of the job."

"It is," she agreed, "but it does require a perfectionist streak. There's a reason you care so much about getting a word right."

He gave her an oddly arrested look. "I guess I hadn't thought of it like that."

She shrugged a little. "I'm something of a perfectionist too and it takes one to know one."

The wisp of a smile curved his lips. "Well, since being a perfectionist is partly what makes you so good at your job, it's hard to argue with the results."

Absurdly, she felt a flutter in her chest at his compliment. She didn't quite know why but his unwavering confidence in her just did something to her. She felt color creeping into her cheeks and instinctively ducked her head as if to hide it.

"You're a good dad, you know," she assured him, returning his compliment.

His expression brightened but all he said, with an attempt at nonchalance, was, "Thanks. I try."

A glow of warmth filled her chest, somehow, at knowing she was able to lift his mood, assuage his doubts. She'd acknowledged how effectively Castle could comfort her; she had not realized how much it would mean to know that she could also comfort him. The knowledge was heady, lifted her heart and, in some strange way, made her feel more like her usual self, more confident.

"Anyway," Castle went on, "thanks for talking to Alexis earlier. You knew the right thing to say."

"I didn't say anything all that special. Sometimes it's just easier to listen to sense when it comes from someone who's not so close to you."

"Well, whatever you said, it worked so thanks." He paused, making a rueful face. "It was easier to comfort her when she was little and an extra scoop of ice cream basically solved all her problems."

Kate smiled, easily picturing a younger Castle indulging a pint-sized Alexis with ice cream. "Yeah, well, she's a teenager now. Things are going to be more complicated with her now."

Castle snapped his fingers as if just remembering something he'd forgotten. "I _knew_ I should have figured out how to make a time machine so Alexis would never grow up!"

A small laugh escaped Kate at this and Castle shot her a quick, pleased smile.

"Not that I really have anything to complain about in Alexis," he added. "I know I lucked out with her. Especially considering what kind of teenager I was. To hear my mother tell it, she had to endure explosions of temper of Mt. Vesuvius proportions every day for more than two years when I was a teenager. I think she thinks she deserves a Nobel Peace Prize just for putting up with me over those years."

Kate affected shock. "No, you were annoying as a teenager? I never would have guessed," she drawled, smirking at him.

He laughed. "I know, right, because I'm such a paragon now," he quipped, pretending to preen.

"If it helps, my dad swears to this day that my teenage years were the reason he started to go gray."

Castle practically lit up with glee, his eyes sparking with intrigue, as usual whenever she revealed anything about her past. "Ooh, let me guess, teenage Beckett was a rebel."

She ducked her head, although she knew it wouldn't hide her grin. "Guilty as charged, rebel Becks, that was me," she admitted, ungrammatically.

"_Becks_, huh?" he waggled his eyebrows at her teasingly as he emphasized the old nickname.

She narrowed her eyes at him in mock warning, tilting her wine glass in his direction in lieu of pointing a finger. "You do not get to call me that."

"Why not? I like it. Becks," he repeated, smirking.

And there was the old Castle she remembered, the one who loved to tease her.

"Yeah, well, you might like it but I'm not that person anymore," she returned unthinkingly, meaning only that she was no longer a rebellious teenager but realized when his expression abruptly sobered that he had taken the statement to refer to how quickly she'd had to grow up when her mom died.

"Beckett… I didn't mean…"

She reached out a hand to pat his arm. "I know. It's okay." She managed to curve her lips into a faint, reassuring smile.

It was enough to erase his frown but the damage was done, the teasing atmosphere disrupted. He shifted on the couch, reaching for his wine glass.

They were both silent for a long moment, Castle taking a drink of wine and then gazing ruminatively at the dark liquid.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking about, wasn't sure if he was still troubled over the inadvertent mention of the loss of her mom or if his thoughts had moved on to the loss of Captain Montgomery.

She found herself thinking about Royce, as she had fairly frequently in the last month up until the events of the last week had pushed Royce from her mind, the greater, more immediate loss of Montgomery drowning out the lingering grief she still felt over Royce.

Another person who she had respected, thought of as a mentor, but who had let her down and was now dead.

She pressed her lips tightly together to keep from sighing, her eyes sliding to Castle, almost of their own volition. And it occurred to her in a way it had not before that after all, maybe she had not been in love with Royce all those years ago. Not really. It had been hero worship but she had not seen Royce as a person with flaws or weaknesses. She had thought he was perfect and at the time, when she had been so young and so green, she had needed that, the image of the perfect hero. But it had been almost as ephemeral and insubstantial as a celebrity crush.

Now, looking at Castle, she acknowledged that what she felt for Castle—something she was not putting a label to—was different, more real, than what she had felt for Royce. She knew Castle better in many ways than she'd ever known Royce, knew very well that Castle was not perfect. Castle, who had hurt her once, but who she trusted, again, a trust that was all the deeper and stronger somehow for having been broken and mended.

Castle broke the silence, his voice quiet. "ʻOne writes, that 'Other friends remain,' that 'Loss is common to the race'—And common is the commonplace, and vacant chaff well meant for grain. That loss is common would not make My own less bitter, rather more: Too common! Never morning wore to evening, but some heart did break.'"

Kate had to think for a moment before she identified, "Tennyson."

He shot her a sideways glance, a wisp of a smile tugging on his lips. "Have I mentioned that it is so hot that you read?"

She'd known he would say something like that. And the quote had been so fitting, as if he had somehow known there was more than just Montgomery's loss on her mind. "You know, tomorrow will be the second funeral I've been to in the last month?" she found herself saying.

He immediately sobered, concern creasing his forehead. "The second funeral? No, I didn't know. I'm sorry."

She nodded, buying herself a moment by taking a sip of her wine. "My old training officer, Mike Royce, was killed a few weeks ago."

"Another cop."

She gave a quick, negating shake of her head. Former cop or no, Royce's arrest and conviction had meant he'd lost his pension from the NYPD, the right to any official NYPD funeral rites. "He left the force soon after I moved up, became a bounty hunter. We'd lost contact but then last fall, I bumped into him again because he was looking for a suspect in one of our cases…" She paused. Even now, she sometimes found it hard to completely wrap her brain around what Royce had done.

"Not a happy reunion?" Castle guessed quietly.

She gave another quick shake of her head, more of a jerk this time. "I had to arrest him," she stated baldly.

He let out a breath. "Oh. God, Beckett, I'm sorry…"

Kate nodded, seaming her lips together, and then after a moment, reached out to grasp his hand. She wasn't quite sure where the impulse came from—or no, that wasn't true, she did know. It was the memory of his holding her hand when she'd told him about what Montgomery had done. (When—how—had it started to seem almost… normal… to hold Castle's hand when she needed comfort?) "He… went crooked," she explained after a moment. "Didn't turn in the suspect he was hunting but detained the guy instead, because this guy was a thief, who'd found a lead on where the stash from a jewelry heist a few years back had been hidden. Royce tried to get a jump on the stolen goods."

"Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you guys worked on a case that involved some actual hidden treasure and you didn't tell me?" Castle's tone was a parody of reproach but his eyes were serious and she realized he was, in typical Castle fashion, trying to lighten the emotional weight with humor.

She let out a breath that was almost the beginnings of a laugh, a smile curving her lips, although it had more to do with appreciation for Castle and his tactics than his actual words. "I'm sorry to tell you this but it even involved an old piece of paper we found on the victim that offered a clue to where the jewels had been hidden," she told him in mock apology, falling in with his humor and finding that she felt a little better for it. Fake it till you make it, she thought wryly.

Castle reacted in predictably histrionic fashion, lifting his free hand to clutch his chest. "Oh, cruel woman! You're telling me you had a case that involved an actual, real life treasure map and actual, real life treasure and I missed it," he lamented.

Now, her smile was real. The man was ridiculous. And adorable. And sweet. "Yeah, well, it happens. Sometimes you just miss out," she pretended to commiserate.

Their eyes met and held and slowly, their smiles faded, the memory of what they were really talking about returning.

He sighed and squeezed her hand. "I am sorry, Beckett. It's… hard to see our heroes fall."

"Yeah," she sighed briefly. "I… never talked to Royce again after I arrested him, heard he'd moved out to LA after losing his bounty hunter's license, and then a few weeks ago, out of the blue, he left me a voice mail, saying he was in trouble. But by the time I got it, it was too late." She sucked in a shaky breath, her eyes falling to their still-joined hands, finding a measure of comfort, of strength, in the warmth of his hand holding hers, the firmness of his grip. "He was trying to protect a girl who was in trouble, hiding from a criminal who'd used her as an unwitting pawn in his plot to steal some high-tech weapons. Royce brought the girl here to New York to hide, trying to get home field advantage against the criminal."

"Was the girl okay?"

She nodded, managing a tight little smile. "Yeah, she was fine. But…" the smile slipped from her lips, "Royce was killed."

"But he saved the girl," Castle inserted gently. "Whatever he'd done, he died a hero, protecting an innocent."

It was true, she realized. She hadn't thought of it in such terms until now, focused on her grief, not just over Royce's death but on losing any chance of telling Royce she forgave him in person. But it was true, Royce had died a hero and that meant something, meant everything.

"Just what I would expect from anyone who was your friend, anyone who could train a cop like you," Castle added.

"Thanks." And she meant it.

"And you caught his killer," Castle went on. It wasn't a question although she had not gotten to that point in her story.

"Yeah, I did." And Royce had died believing that she would bring his killer to justice, she remembered now. That was what Ganz had said, that Royce had warned him that he would be caught and punished. Royce had planned for it even, arranged to return to the jurisdiction of the 12th, to have her business card in his pocket, to say nothing of the voice mail he had left for her. In spite of everything, Royce had still trusted her to have his back, she realized. The same sort of confidence Castle had in her.

There was another silence, in which Kate slowly realized that she felt… better now. Talking to Castle, telling him about Royce, had helped, somehow. Eased the sore spot in her chest from Royce's betrayal and his death. Just as he had helped in these last few days with the loss of Captain Montgomery. It was just… Castle, she thought. He helped, made things easier, made things… better, somehow.

In her abstraction, her grip on his hand had loosened, she belatedly realized, as his hand slipped from hers.

"I'm sorry," Castle said somberly. "The Captain, your training officer… It's just… so much. I wish you could get a break from it all."

She had somehow come to expect that Castle would be on the same wavelength as she was to the point that she found she was rather surprised he hadn't somehow sensed the way her mood had eased. He didn't realize how much he helped.

"It's okay," she assured him. "My mom always used to say that life never delivers anything that we can't handle and, well, I think she was right, as usual. It hasn't been an easy month," she admitted. For that matter, it had not been a very easy year or an easy two years. "But I made it this far and I'm here now. And I have my dad, the boys, Lanie." She paused, her heart suddenly leaping in her chest. "And you're back."

He was looking at her as if… she couldn't think of a way to describe it except she knew that the look in his eyes was making it suddenly hard for her to breathe.

"Do you know what I thought when I first met you?"

She blinked, shaking her head slowly, her eyes not able to leave his, feeling mesmerized by his quiet voice, something in his tone she didn't think she'd ever heard before.

"That you were a mystery I was never going to solve," he answered his own question. "And even after all this time, with every new thing I learn about you, I'm still amazed by the depths of your strength, your heart." Oh. Oh lord, if she'd been standing up, she thought she might have crumpled to the ground, her knees having liquefied. And then, because he was still Castle, the beginnings of a teasing smile curved his lips before he added, "And your hotness."

Yes, definitely still Castle. A smile escaped her, in spite of the blush heating her cheeks, the butterflies rioting in her chest. "You're not so bad yourself." Either his heart or his hotness.

Time seemed to slow. He lifted a hand, brushing aside some strands of hair and then cupping her cheek in a gentle, unmistakable caress.

She vaguely heard Montgomery's familiar voice in her mind, speaking the words he'd told her in his last letter for her. _I know he cares about you. You may not be ready to see it but he does. _

Castle did care about her, a lot. It was in his eyes, in his touch. In everything he had done for her in the last two years, everything he was still doing for her.

She had the vague idea that she should say something, should tell Castle… that she liked him or something. But her brain was blank and all she could do, all she could think to do, was lift her own hand to cover his, keeping it against her cheek. And she thought—she couldn't have sworn to her own name at the moment—but she thought that she was the one to shift closer, her upper body listing towards him.

And then she forgot to think at all because his lips were on hers and he was kissing her or she was kissing him, his lips soft and warm and a little tentative. Or at least the kiss started out that way, gentle and tender, but then her lips were parting at the first touch of his tongue, and the tenor of the kiss changed as he became more confident. He was seductive and deliberate and demanding and oh so _good_ as his mouth worked over hers.

He tugged her closer and she sagged into him, peripherally conscious of hearing a soft, breathy moan. And then his hand slid under her shirt, his warm fingers finding the bare skin of her back, and the kiss was broken off as she gasped involuntarily at the heat streaking through her at this first touch of his hand on her skin. His hand stilled, easing back on the caress, his lips dropping soft, seductive touches on the corner of her lips, her cheek, her chin, her jaw, the little hollow just behind her earlobe.

She heard another breathy little moan and this time realized it had come from her and then she slid her hand behind his neck, her fingers finding the soft hair at the nape of his neck, as she dragged his mouth back to hers, kissing him again. And again and again.

She had no idea how much time passed before he gentled the kiss, giving her a last closed-mouth peck on the lips, before he simply rested his forehead against hers, their noses brushing, their uneven, panting breaths mingling.

It was some little time before her breathing and her heart rate returned to normal.

Unsurprisingly, Castle was the first one to speak. "Oh, um, wow…" he breathed after a long minute.

She found herself smiling, an absurd burst of pleasure blossoming in her chest at the realization that her kiss had reduced Rick Castle to incoherence. "Yeah, wow is right," she admitted, tilting her head to drop another light kiss to the corner of his lips.

She sensed rather than saw his smile. "Kate?"

"Hmm?" She really did like the sound of her first name on his lips, the softness of his tone making her name, that she'd always thought sounded more crisp than pretty, sound like an endearment.

"Will you have dinner with me?"

Now, she moved, lifting her head and shifting to put just a sliver of space between their bodies, enough so she could see his face, meet his eyes. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Yes."

His bald admission surprised a little huff of laughter from her even as he continued, his eyes so blue and warm and a little nervous too, "I know our relationship hasn't exactly followed conventional paths so far but I want to do this right, Kate. I want to buy you flowers and take you out to nice restaurants and kiss you goodnight at your door and all those things people do when they're starting a real relationship. I want to get this right..."

Oh, damn. How did he do this to her, make her feel the prick of stupid tears behind her eyes? She swallowed. Now was the time to take the last step, be as brave as her dad—and Castle—believed she was. "Rick." Her rare use of his first name stopped his words, an unthinking impulse because at that moment, calling him 'Castle' as she always had didn't seem quite right. She was rewarded for the impulse when she saw the way his eyes brightened. He liked it when she called him by his first name, just as she liked it when he called her 'Kate.' "I want that too. I do."

She faltered, trying to calm the rabbiting of her heart by looking at his eyes, his expression.

"I'm not the easiest person to get to know," she went on, not quite evenly. "I'm not good at talking about things. I… when my mom died, I think I built up this wall inside me because I didn't want to hurt like that again. But I know I can't have the kind of relationship I want, a real relationship, with you… unless that wall comes down. I don't… it won't be easy. I'll get scared and try to push you away but I do want to try and take down the wall. If you'll help me?"

Castle didn't hesitate. "Yes. Of course, yes. I'm not going anywhere."

She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding and then he was sliding his hand behind her neck so he could close the small distance between them and kiss her, again, and this time the kiss felt like a promise and a hope for more.

"Castle?" she murmured against his lips.

"Mm, what?" He drew back just enough to meet her eyes, one hand still cupping her cheek.

"Can we take this slow? I mean, it's been… an emotional week, unsettling, so I think it might be better to let things get back to normal, you know, after the funeral and everything, adjust to working together again, adjust to the new captain, whoever he or she is…"

"That's fine. There's no deadline we need to meet. But Kate?"

"Hmm?"

"We can still kiss, right?" He offered her a ridiculously exaggerated pleading look. "I mean, I can wait for our date but I really don't want to stop kissing you."

There was her Castle, making her heart go soft and then making her want to laugh in the next second. "I think that can be arranged." And suited action to the words by kissing him.

Several minutes—and even more kisses—later, Kate very reluctantly drew back. As lovely and tempting and addicting as his kisses were, reality was impinging on her mind. "I should go, get some rest," she sighed, although she didn't make any actual move to do so.

He pulled a sad face but to his credit, didn't argue. He only leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. "I know. Long, hard day tomorrow."

They disentangled themselves, standing up, and he helped her into her jacket.

Oddly, or not, his very willingness to let her go made her feel a rush of confidence, of belief, that they could make this relationship work. Because she knew very well that Castle didn't want her to leave the loft but he was holding back, not pushing, allowing her to do what she needed, get the rest she needed and emotionally prepare herself, for tomorrow.

It was, she thought, in some ways the opposite of what he had done in looking into her mom's case. She understood now that he had done the wrong thing for the right reasons, wanting to help her, but now, this time, he was letting her decide what she wanted to do, for herself.

He accompanied her to the door and it was only as she reached it that he made her pause with a hand on her waist.

She willingly and immediately heeded the silent invitation and turned, stepping into him as he folded her into his arms. She wrapped her own arms around him and for a moment, let herself wallow in the solid warmth of his body against hers, the strength of his arms around her. Mm, his hugs might be as addictive as his kisses were.

But sadly, she couldn't stay in his embrace forever and it was only a minute or so later that she slowly pulled away, pausing to give him a brief kiss on the lips. "Until tomorrow, Castle."

The faint curve of his lips told her that he remembered their little exchange from two years ago about saying 'good night' versus saying 'til tomorrow.'

"Til tomorrow, Beckett," he echoed but the look in his eyes made the commonplace words seem like a promise and in a way, she supposed they were.

And then, with a brief squeeze of his hand, she left.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: I hope this chapter lived up to expectations…


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: This chapter was a hard one to write and I'm not sure how well it's turned out but here it is. Brace yourselves….

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 17_

It was a strange confluence of events and moods. Castle felt almost crazed from it, to feel this soul-deep happiness, this crazy hope, at having his dearest hope and dream come true on the night before he would have to bury a man who had been his friend, a man who had tried, in his own way, to make this current happiness possible.

It was hard to keep from smiling like a loon when he thought about Beckett and the night before—the kisses, oh god yes, the kisses—and what she'd said—she wanted to be with him!—but here at the cathedral, surrounded by law enforcement and others who had come to pay their respects to Captain Montgomery was the absolute least appropriate time in the world to be smiling. Fortunately for his composure, Beckett was nowhere in sight. He guessed she was off somewhere in private at the moment, trying to compose herself for the service. It hadn't slipped his notice that the boys were not visible either and the Montgomery family, while he knew they were here, were secluded from public view.

It really was strange. He didn't think he'd ever felt this combination of happiness underlying the heavy weight of grief, the emotions warring with each other so that at any given moment, he had no idea which one was predominant.

But, he told himself, his happiness and hope could wait. There would be time for that. He and Beckett would have time in the days and months to come to explore this precious budding relationship. He would be back in the precinct from tomorrow; he expected the new Captain would be officially announced by the end of the week. And at some time after that, he and Beckett would go on their date.

He was going on a date with Kate Beckett. That thought was never getting old.

He felt another surge of elation but the feeling was immediately squelched as the doors of the cathedral were opened to allow people inside. Inside, where Montgomery's family no doubt already was.

Today was a day to remember and honor Captain Montgomery, a day to mourn.

People were starting to turn and go up the stairs into the cathedral, his eyes finding a few familiar faces in the sea of uniformed officers. He recognized LT, Paderewski, Velasquez, Hastings, a few CSU techs. He exchanged nods of greeting with LT but this was obviously not the time to approach.

His eyes momentarily met those of a tall, older man with dark, graying hair and then the man's steps checked before he turned and approached, clearly heading towards Castle. Castle didn't recognize the man; he would have sworn they were strangers but at the same time, there was something… some niggling sense of vague familiarity. Was it possible he had once met the man at a book signing or something?

The other man held out his hand as he drew near, a faint subdued smile on his lips. "You must be Rick Castle. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Castle automatically shook the man's hand. Something in the brisk tones, the direct gaze…

"I'm Jim Beckett, Katie's father," the other man finished the introduction.

Castle straightened up even more than he already had been, feeling rather as if he'd just received a small electric shock. Oh. Oh, this was Beckett's dad. "Mr. Beckett!" he exclaimed in a voice that was only slightly higher than usual. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"It's nice to finally be able to attach a face to the name. I admit I feel like I already know you, Mr. Castle. I've heard a lot about you from Katie."

Mr. Beckett's tone and expression were relaxed, at ease, but Castle still felt his stomach drop a little. Certainly from the earliest months when he'd gotten to know Beckett, he didn't imagine she would have had much good to say about him to her dad. And he wasn't sure how much Beckett would have told her dad about him, what he'd done, looking into Johanna Beckett's case. "Please call me Rick," Castle responded, managing a polite smile that he hoped hid his nervousness. He felt a touch on his arm and remembered his mother's presence with some relief, for once. "Oh, this is my mother, Martha Rodgers. Mother, Jim Beckett."

Mr. Beckett nodded and shook his mother's hand. "Ms. Rodgers, a pleasure."

His mother, true to form, shook Mr. Beckett's hand energetically and Castle could only be thankful that she refrained from kissing the man on the cheek or hugging him or some other exuberant greeting. "It's lovely to meet you, Jim. I can call you Jim, can't I? And you must call me Martha. I don't stand on ceremony. Katherine is such a delightful girl; you must be so proud of her."

Mr. Beckett blinked a little at this rapid spate of words but had to smile at the compliment to his daughter. "I am, thank you."

"It is wonderful to meet you here. Katherine didn't mention that you would be coming today," his mother inserted.

Castle tried not to wince since really, Jim Beckett probably had more right to be here than his own mother did. He knew she didn't mean her words to sound otherwise but still.

"Oh, well, Katie wasn't sure I would be able to clear my schedule this morning," Mr. Beckett answered smoothly enough.

"Mother," Castle interjected. "Why don't you go inside and save our seats?"

"Certainly, Richard," his mother agreed with a readiness that surprised him before she turned back to Mr. Beckett. "Would you like to sit with us too, Jim? You'd be very welcome."

"Why, yes, thank you, I'd appreciate that," the other man agreed.

"Wonderful. I'll see you both inside then." With that, his mother swanned off and Castle turned back to Jim Beckett to find the man studying him in turn. He could not see much resemblance between Beckett and her dad but there was a shade of similarity in the line of their jaws and now that he knew what to look for, he recognized that Jim Beckett had a similar briskness in his air, the same intelligent light in his eyes. Beckett's—Kate's—was honed to rather more obvious sharpness but Castle could see that Jim Beckett was no slouch either, was formidable in his own way. Unsurprising, he supposed, since from everything he knew about Johanna Beckett, she hadn't been the type of woman who would have easily tolerated someone who was weak, any more than Beckett herself was.

"So, Rick, Katie told me that you'd returned to pass along your condolences over Captain Montgomery. I know she appreciates it."

"It was the least I could do, sir. Captain Montgomery was a friend of mine and I know how much he'll be missed."

"No need for the 'sir.' Call me Jim," Mr. Beckett told him before continuing soberly, "Roy Montgomery was a good man."

"Yes, he was," Castle agreed and guessed that Beckett had not told her father about the Captain's past. No, of course she wouldn't have. She was discreet and she had said that aside from herself and the boys, he was the only other person to know the truth about Montgomery and she would keep it that way.

Jim hesitated, his eyes flickering away to a small clump of uniformed officers arriving, before returning to meet Castle's eyes. "My daughter tries not to worry me and in general, she isn't one to show her emotions. I imagine you're familiar with that side of her character."

Castle's lips twitched a little. "Yes, I am. She's tough, she doesn't flinch."

Jim nodded. "She always has been." A wisp of a melancholy smile curved his lips. "She refused to have a nightlight when she was little. Not because she wasn't afraid of the dark but because it was like a point of pride for her to stare it down."

"That sounds just like Beckett," Castle commented, relaxing even as his heart clenched a little. He didn't know how or why but Jim Beckett had apparently decided he approved of Castle; there was no way he would be sharing this much about his daughter if he didn't.

Jim's expression sobered. "Katie hasn't said much about it but I know this past week has been hard for her. I also know that your friendship has helped make things a little easier and I want to thank you for that."

Oh. Oh lord. Castle hadn't expected that. It was so… humbling. "No thanks necessary. I'm happy to help in any way I can."

Jim nodded and a brief silence fell.

Castle had the crazy urge to admit that he would do anything for Kate, that he would always be there for her, that he was in love with her, but he could hardly admit all that to her father when they had just met a few minutes ago. And he couldn't say all that to her father before he had said anything to Kate herself.

Thankfully, Jim was the one to break the silence, his tone a little lighter. "So Katie tells me you're planning on writing another book about her."

He was certainly getting a better sense of how close Beckett's relationship to her dad was. And it occurred to him to marvel, yet again, at Beckett's strength, how much she cared, to have been able to repair her relationship with her dad after his years of struggling with alcoholism. Castle had seen enough of substance abuse to be familiar with the toll it took on an addict's family. "Ah, yes, I am. As long as Beckett—Kate—doesn't mind," he added.

"I read your book, the one you based on Katie," Jim stated.

"Oh." Castle hadn't expected, or more accurately, had never stopped to wonder if Beckett's dad would read his book. "Thank you," he answered automatically.

"I found it… interesting," Jim continued on, a slight change in tone abruptly reminding Castle of the parts of _Heat Wave_ that a dad would not want to read. Page 105. Oh shit.

Castle tried not to choke on air. "Oh—uh—well, though I try to keep my books grounded in reality, a lot of aspects are taken purely from my imagination." No, wait, that didn't help. "Not that I imagine that kind of thing about—not that I imagine anything similar—I… um, I really can do a better job explaining myself," he finished weakly, inwardly kicking himself. Way to ruin any positive impression Jim might have had.

"I don't have any trouble believing that, Rick," Jim offered and Castle's eyes narrowed a little. Wait. Was it possible—it was. Jim's tone was bland but there was the slightest twitch at the corners of his mouth. And Castle recognized that twitch because Beckett—the other Beckett, the one he knew much better—had that same lip twitch when she was teasing.

Beckett had inherited her (evil) sense of humor from her dad, apparently. Of course, Castle could not respond in kind to Jim Beckett. "Oh, well, thank you," was all he said instead. But he couldn't help but think that in time, maybe in a year or so when Castle hoped he would feel more confident in his relationship with Beckett, he and Jim Beckett might actually manage to be friends of a sort. He sobered. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Kate is incredible, her strength of character, her drive, in addition to her compassion. I can only hope to do her justice when I write about her."

"A good start, Rick. Obviously, I can never hear too much praise about my daughter," Jim commented with a faint smile.

Castle opened his lips to respond but before he could, some sixth sense kicked in, and he turned his head to see that Beckett had arrived along with the boys. And he momentarily forgot how to breathe at the sight of her, looking poised and formidable in her dress uniform, her hair neatly hidden beneath her cap.

Jim Beckett turned to see his daughter at the same moment. Castle saw exactly when Beckett spotted them, an expression he couldn't read flitting across her face before she exchanged a couple words with the boys, also looking very different in their dress uniforms, and then made her way up the front steps of the cathedral to join them.

"Katie."

"Beckett."

"Hi, Dad." She stepped into her dad's embrace, accepting his quick kiss on the cheek, before she met Castle's eyes. "Castle."

Castle's susceptible heart bounded in his chest. There was the faintest hint of a smile, a softening of her tone, when she said his name that told him she was remembering the night before.

She turned back to her dad. "Dad, I see you've met Castle. I hope you haven't been telling tales about me."

Castle and Jim exchanged quick glances of masculine solidarity.

Jim gave his daughter a look of limpid innocence. "I don't know what you mean, Katie. I just introduced myself to Rick and thanked him for coming today."

"And I introduced him to my mother, who's waiting inside," Castle smoothly added. No matter how pure his and Jim's intentions might have been in their brief conversation about Beckett, he was too wise in the ways of Beckett not to know that Beckett would not be happy to know that he and her dad had been talking about her when she was not present.

Beckett's eyes bounced between them with some skepticism. "I was wondering where Martha was," was all she said in response. "Tell her I appreciate her coming today. I don't know if I'll have a chance to speak to her myself. Dad, you'll be all right on your own?"

"Of course, Katie, don't worry about me," Jim quickly assured. "You do whatever you need to do."

"My mother invited Jim to sit with us," Castle told her. "We'll be fine."

Beckett nodded briskly and Castle could almost see her wrapping her composure around her again like a blanket, or more accurately, like a shield, the momentary lowering of her guard to greet him and her dad over. "Castle, because you're a pallbearer, you can ride to the cemetery with me and the boys." Her voice was cool, strictly controlled.

"Martha and I can make our own way to the cemetery, I'm sure, Katie," Jim spoke up.

"Good, thanks. I'd better go, get in place." Beckett reached out to squeeze her dad's arm before sliding a quick look at Castle and then she had turned away to return to where the boys were waiting along with a group of other cops from the 12th.

Beside him, Castle heard Jim give a soft sigh. "Always such a stoic," he murmured, rather more to himself than to anyone else.

Castle glanced at the other man, noting the concern crimping his brow as he watched his daughter, and felt his chest constrict with a pang of empathy. Jim was a father worried about his daughter. He wanted to reassure Jim but he could not dispute the accuracy of the characterization of Beckett. "She is," he agreed. "But she knows she's not alone."

Jim's expression eased a little as he looked back at Castle. "True. Shall we go join your mother, Rick?"

Castle agreed and the two men made their way into the cathedral, his mother's bright hair making it easy to spot her in one of the rows close to the front, across the aisle from the many rows that were being filled in by lines of uniformed cops. He saw Beckett and the boys among the crowd but for once, his focus didn't stay on Beckett, immediately pulled away to focus on the Montgomerys.

Montgomery's family was seated in the front pew, Evelyn looking a decade older than when he'd last seen her even a few days ago, Rob Montgomery looking very young and very solemn, and the two girls, Becca and Mary, devastated but dry-eyed, at least for the moment. Montgomery's kids all looked so very young as they stared at the casket which held their father's body. Castle, too, looked at the casket and silently promised Roy again to take care of his family the way Roy had wanted. He would be a friend to Evelyn and to all the kids, he vowed, would look out for them.

He suddenly desperately wanted to see Alexis, even though he was paradoxically glad that Alexis was not here since if he had his way, he would keep everything related to death as far away from Alexis as possible. He felt a hand briefly cover his and turned to meet his mother's eyes, her gaze going to the Montgomery family before returning to his in a moment of silent understanding. He wasn't about to put it into words but he squeezed his mother's hand.

There was a rustle that swept through the crowd like a wave as the line of dignitaries representing the City and One PP entered and took their places in front. Castle recognized the Police Commissioner and the Chief of Detectives and exchanged quick nods of greeting with the Mayor and with Judge Markaway. The entrance of the dignitaries seemed to serve as a cue of sorts, the crowd rapidly quieting, and in another minute, the funeral service began.

* * *

If anyone had told Kate even two days ago that she would find herself rather distracted at the start of Captain Montgomery's funeral service, she would have been angrily incredulous at the mere idea that anything at all could divert her focus from her dead mentor and friend at his own memorial service.

But Kate had not accounted for or expected that her dad and Castle would meet for the first time before the service started. Or that it would happen without her there to guard against her dad's disquieting willingness to talk about her. And she already knew that if her dad was willing to talk about her, Castle would listen with even more alacrity, lapping up every last clue and tidbit of information with the eagerness of a dog cleaning off a plate of steak. Which was a very dangerous combination for her own peace of mind.

Fortunately, she honestly did not think her dad and Castle had been talking for very long before she'd arrived. Long enough to get the initial introductions and awkwardness out of the way certainly but not long enough to dispel the distance of new acquaintanceship, at least if she was any judge of both her dad's and Castle's demeanors. She was sure that her dad and Castle had talked more than the bare exchange of introductions that they'd admitted to but she decided, for once, to trust her dad's sense of respect for her privacy. Maybe more because she didn't have time to dwell on what her dad might have told Castle now anyway as the service started.

A movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention, as little Mary ducked her head, tears sliding silently down her cheeks. All other thoughts and emotions vanished from her mind as her heart clenched with painful empathy. The Captain's daughters, all his kids really, were so very young to lose their father. Rob Montgomery was almost the same age she had been when she'd lost her mom. Kate inwardly flinched at the thought, the painful memory of attending her own mom's funeral. She sternly controlled her breathing, inhaling, holding, and then exhaling again, repeating the actions until she felt some measure of composure restored.

Beside her, she was aware of Ryan sitting ramrod straight, his fists clenched in his lap, evidence of the control he was exerting over his emotions.

Lt. Hassan's eulogy to the Captain was, as she'd expected, the hardest part of the service to get through. Hassan had known the Captain for years, been his partner for a decade, and he spoke movingly of the Captain's loyalty and devotion to the force that was second only to his loyalty and devotion to his family. Kate spent the minutes as he spoke with her gaze focused unswervingly at a point on the wall in the front of the cathedral, her jaw locked so tightly it almost physically hurt, as she tried to will away the tears she could feel pricking at the back of her eyes. She seemed to hear Hassan's words with only half an ear, processing them with part of her mind, even as she was bombarded with memories of Captain Montgomery. The look on his face and his voice when he found her down in the records room the first time she met him. The pride in his smile when he told her she had passed the detectives exam. The approval in his expression when he told her and the boys that they had achieved the highest case closure rate in the precinct.

_We speak for the dead. We are all they've got when the wicked rob them of their voices. We owe them that. But we don't owe them our lives. _

His remembered voice speaking the words from his last letter: _Whatever mistakes he made, I know he cares about you. You may not be ready to see it but he does. _

Castle. The reminder of Castle broke through her fog of grief and she turned her head just enough to allow her to sneak a glance at him, across the aisle and a couple rows behind her, tall and broad-shouldered and somber in his dark suit. He looked more serious than she had ever seen him, sorrow writ large on his expression, but the sight of him somehow lifted her heart fractionally anyway. The knowledge that he was there, that he cared about her. And maybe, after the funeral obsequies were over for the day, she could sneak in a few minutes alone with him, a few minutes to be wrapped in his arms, cosseted and comforted by his warmth and his strength.

Just the thought of it was enough, a tiny ember of warmth kindled in her chest, enough to ease the tightening of her throat. It got her through the rest of the solemn ceremony.

When the ceremony itself ended, there was a bustle as all the uniformed members of the congregation stood and made their way in procession out of the cathedral, there to stand and wait in formation, alongside representatives from all the other precincts as well as representatives from the NYFD and the other branches of law enforcement, the MTA transit police, Port Authority police, the National Guard, the Coast Guard.

It was only then that Montgomery's family stood up, Rob Montgomery stepping out from his place next to Evelyn while Becca and little Mary moved to stand on either side of their mother, gripping her hands, as the three of them moved to the front of the cathedral, standing to face the casket.

Kate and the boys stood up and made their way out to the aisle and Kate was conscious of Castle standing and joining them as they, along with Lt. Hassan and Rob, took their places on either side of the casket. Hassan and Rob standing at the head, Ryan and Esposito in the middle, while Kate and Castle brought up the rear.

The heavy, muffled drums of the NYPD Emerald Society began the solemn cadence and Kate along with the other pallbearers took up the burden of the casket that held the body of their fallen friend, ready to carry him out of the cathedral and send him on his final journey.

Their steps slow and measured, they made their slow way out of the cathedral. As they stepped outside, Kate blinked and squinted, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the sun, glinting off the neighboring buildings and the badges on the chests of the hundreds of men and women in uniform lining the sidewalk.

They reached the hearse in due course and once they had set down their burden, they stepped aside to stand in line along the sidewalk. The motorcycle cavalcade to escort the hearse to the cemetery moved into place.

And then, in slow, crisp unison, Kate along with all the other uniformed members standing outside lifted one hand in a last salute to their fallen comrade. Kate's eyes stung, her vision blurring with tears, and at that moment, she felt Castle's fingers brush against her own, two fingers hooking around hers in the subtlest of gestures, unnoticed by anyone else. She blinked, her vision clearing, and she felt a renewed measure of strength to watch as the hearse and its escorting motorcycle cavalcade set off on its slow journey to the cemetery.

Lt. Hassan accompanied Montgomery's family to the town car provided by the Department to take them to the cemetery. It was only after the Montgomerys were safely on their way that everyone else broke from procession.

Kate, the boys, and Castle made their way to the boys' waiting car to join the slow procession following the hearse to the cemetery. By some prior agreement, Ryan was the one to drive while Kate and Castle slid into the back seat.

Castle, unsurprisingly, was the first one to break the heavy silence in the car. "It was a beautiful service. It did the Captain proud."

The only response was a muted hum of agreement from Ryan and a grunt from Esposito. Kate briefly met Castle's eyes and after a moment, reached out to grasp his hand, holding it for just a moment. She really did like holding his hand, liked the way his hand engulfed hers, making her feel oddly protected, comforted. It was not a sensation she was used to feeling or to seeking out—she was usually the one to do the protecting—but she found it was… nice to feel as if, for a few moments, she didn't have to bear the burden alone.

But she didn't allow herself to hold Castle's hand for long and the rest of the slow ride to the cemetery took place in silence.

When they reached the cemetery, the hearse had already arrived, the band taking position beside the freshly-dug grave. At the sight of it, Kate's breath stuttered in her lungs and she almost flinched.

She remembered standing beside the newly-dug grave of her mom, too frozen in her misery to even care about the cold January wind whipping at her. Remembered feeling as if she wanted to scream, that her mom—the vibrant mom who had taught her and cared for her and laughed with her, the mom she remembered dancing around the kitchen with—could not be buried, did not belong in the unfeeling ground. Remembered her dad grasping her hand, squeezing it, the touch of his hand the source of the only warmth she'd felt.

"Kate?" The word was quiet and accompanied by another hand briefly grasping hers and she blinked, returning to the present, to see Castle watching her. She was aware of the sun beating down, the warmth of the May day in stark contrast to that in her memory—but this time, the hand holding hers and providing some measure of comfort was not that of her dad but of Castle.

She managed a small twitch of her lips, a nod of acknowledgment and thanks, as she and Castle moved to join the other pallbearers by the hearse.

It was some little time before the small group that had followed them from the cathedral, including her dad and Martha, settled in their places by the graveside. Only when they were all there, a small column of uniformed officers from the 12th and the 64th where Montgomery and Hassan had worked as detectives took up their places. For the last time, the muffled beat of the Emerald Society drums marked the cue. For the last time, Kate and the other pallbearers lifted up the precious burden and processed between the column of officers to the graveside.

Kate's eyes sought and found her dad's for a moment as she took up her place by the open grave and she knew they were both remembering that day by her mom's grave. But then she returned her attention to watch the ceremony as the flag was folded and presented to Evelyn, no longer composed but shaking with sobs. Kate felt her throat tighten with emotion, again, and wondered not for the first time how she would manage to speak through the lump of grief and guilt and regret.

Her eyes found Castle, watching Evelyn with his own grief mingled with compassion creasing his forehead, his figure standing tall and broad beside Martha and her dad. _I'm still amazed by the depths of your strength, your heart… _

Kate let out a breath, steeling herself, as she moved forward to stand at the podium and turned to face Montgomery's family, Castle, Martha, her dad, and the small group of mourners.

She turned to glance at the casket that held Captain Montgomery's body, remembering falling on her knees beside him in the hangar before she forcibly pushed the memory aside. She swallowed hard, let out a breath, and began to speak. "Roy Montgomery taught me what it meant to be a cop. He taught me that we are bound by our choices but we are more than our mistakes. Captain Montgomery once said to me that for us, there is no victory. There are only battles. And in the end, the best you can hope for is to find a place to make your stand."

She paused, her eyes snared by Castle's steady gaze as he watched her, the sorrow on his expression tempered now by something warmer, softer, than that. Something that snagged her attention and made her heart flutter strangely, even as she vaguely registered that she had seen a similar look on his face before. Where… It looked almost like his expression when he watched Alexis, his 'dad' look, affection and tenderness and some pride. And he was looking at her, watching _her_. Kate had recognized and accepted that Castle cared about her but at that moment, she thought, no, that wasn't it. Castle might be… in love with her…

She should be shocked, stunned. Now was possibly the least appropriate time in the world to realize such a thing, even to be thinking about such a thing. But she thought about the way Captain Montgomery had stayed in contact with Castle, not only for their own friendship's sake but for hers, remembered a $100,000 payment for a chance at her mom's killer, arranging to have her dad's watch fixed, and the last few days.

She had more to say about Montgomery but at the last second, she found her lips opening for an additional sentence, not about Montgomery himself but about what he had known and tried to make her realize. "And if you're very lucky, you find someone willing to stand with you." Someone to stand with you, not only in the ongoing battle against those who would take away others' lives for their own gain, but in life too.

It was what Captain Montgomery had written to her in his last letter, wasn't it? That their lives should be about more than a quest for justice. He had known that, had found that kind of partnership himself.

"Our captain would want us to carry on the fight…" she went on with the words she had committed to memory almost by rote, her mind still focused on what she'd realized, on what she hoped she'd found… like the Captain.

Her eyes moved on to Evelyn, who had stood beside Montgomery his entire adult life, had been his helpmeet, his support, and his partner in life for thirty years. She thought about her parents, the way she knew her mom had helped her dad and vice versa for more than 20 years, how hard it had been for her dad after he lost that support.

_Wait, what?! _ Was she actually thinking like this—comparing her relationship with Castle—their almost-a-relationship, barely begun as it was—to Montgomery and Evelyn, to her parents? Her thoughts skidded to a halt as she stiffened, her heart kicking in sudden panic, her grip tightening convulsively on the podium. What was she thinking!

She barely noticed the sudden burning pain in her chest—what?—and then she was on the ground and somehow—how?—Castle was on top of her. She couldn't catch her breath, a fuzzy ringing in her ears—were those screams?

Her eyes focused on Castle's face, looming over hers, terror and panic in his expression, and she felt something that wasn't physical in reaction. She hated to see him look like this…

His hands were on her, fluttering over her side, her shoulders, cupping her cheeks. His voice, a choked whisper she somehow heard through the buzzing in her ears. "Kate… Kate, please… Stay with me, don't leave me…"

Why... Didn't he know…_ She didn't want to leave him…_

She had to tell him, couldn't see him hurt and not help. "Rick…" She couldn't seem to get her lips, her voice, to cooperate. Wasn't sure he heard.

Why couldn't she breathe…

"Kate… Please, Kate…"

He was crying...

Her eyes closed and she thought she felt a phantom touch of lips to hers and then she knew nothing more.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: I had to; I couldn't see any way around this part of canon. Sorry?


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: And now for what comes next…

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 18_

Castle made it to the hospital.

Afterwards, he honestly wasn't sure how. It could have been by ambulance or by teleportation, for all he was really aware or for all he cared.

He had only the vaguest memories of sirens and screams and a jumble of voices and then in a rush, it seemed as if he awoke from a sort of walking fugue state into a waking nightmare and he was in a hospital hallway.

His hands—his hands had blood on them. Kate's blood.

Oh god.

He staggered and then he was moving again, bumping into a couple people before he somehow found himself in a bathroom and unsteadily made his way to the sink, scrubbing at his hands. Scrubbing and scrubbing but he couldn't seem to feel clean. Her blood had been on his hands and he thought he would continue to see the stains on his hands whenever he looked at them.

A wave of dizziness had him listing, his hands catching the sides of the sink as he half-fell, half-leaned against the wall. He couldn't breathe… He was gasping and choking but he couldn't seem to breathe, couldn't get any air into his lungs. His lungs had collapsed…

It might be a sign. A sign that Kate was—that she'd— If she was gone, if he'd lost her for good— He'd always believed, thought, that they were connected, that there was a bond between them that somehow held, a symbiotic relationship. She was the love of his life, he believed that. And if her heart had stopped beating, then it made sense to him at that moment that his lungs would stop, his body would stop functioning too. If she wasn't breathing, then neither could he.

And for one split second, he didn't care—what did his own life matter?

But even as he thought it, a gasp, a breath, broke through. Unevenly, harshly, but it was air. He vaguely heard panting gasps and something like sobs and slowly, very slowly, realized they were coming from him. He was still breathing.

Leaning against the bathroom wall, his hands clutching the sides of the sink, the water still running.

He wasn't sure how long it was but slowly, stiffly, he bent to splash water on his face, the sensation returning him further to reality. A reality he hated, a reality that hurt like razors slicing at his heart, but the reality that he was alive, in the hospital bathroom.

How long had it been… Had there been any change, any news?

He fumbled to turn off the water faucets and didn't even stop to dry his hands before he rushed not quite steadily out the door and into the hallway, looking wildly, frantically, around. Fortunately for his own sanity, what there was of it, he'd only gone a few unsteady steps before he saw a figure he knew.

Lanie. Standing, leaning against the wall, and—he realized as he neared—she was crying.

Oh god. Oh please, no…

"Lanie," he croaked. "Is she—"

Lanie jolted to look at him. "She's in surgery," she rasped in a voice he honestly did not recognize.

But the words registered. In surgery. Which meant—she was alive. Alive, she was still alive. Oh thank god. He joined Lanie in sagging against the wall. She was still alive.

He hadn't managed to think anything beyond that when there was a rush of sound, of doors crashing open, the pounding of feet towards them.

"Castle!"

"Rick!"

The sound of his name had him jerking upright again to see Jim, the boys, his mother. They were all running towards him but Jim reached him first in a headlong sprint that would have done justice to Usain Bolt and then he was grabbing Castle by the arms, his grip as desperate as his expression.

"She's in surgery," Castle managed to get out and then it was his turn to grasp Jim's arms as the other man's hands slid away as he swayed in the rush of relief. "She's alive, in surgery," he repeated again, the only words he could think to say, the only fact that mattered right then.

The boys reached them and Lanie went into Esposito's arms, Ryan swiping a hand down his face.

"Oh, Richard!"

Castle turned and with his other arm, half-caught his mother as she all but threw herself at him.

But it was only for a moment before his mother straightened up, stepping away with a pat on his shoulder.

"Why don't we all find a waiting room instead of standing around, blocking the hallway?" his mother suggested briskly, her voice cutting through all the background noise and the fog of emotion and making them all look up at her, at the voice of reason.

And they all listened. His mother was the one who gathered them together with a glance; his mother was the one who led their little group down the hallway; his mother was the one who waylaid a passing nurse and calmly asked where the waiting room was. And his mother was the one who followed the directions and led them all to the waiting room, pulling the door open and ushering them inside.

Castle felt a rush of love, of admiration, for his mother and her brand of strength. He usually thought of her as an agent of disorder; certainly, his mother's organizational skills were not her strong suit. But if there was one thing his mother knew how to do, it was how to adapt to new circumstances, cope with the slings and arrows of fortune, and carry on. The show must go on, as his mother liked to say. She was proving it now, the only one reasonably calm and in control among them all. He had noted it before but never so forcefully as now; as dramatic as his mother was in everyday life, somehow, in actual crises, when the people around her were upset and emotional, his mother seemed to become more calm and composed.

He himself felt drained and miserably helpless because there was nothing he could do. He couldn't think clearly, could barely think at all, but he knew there was nothing he could do, not for the only thing that mattered right now, saving Kate's life. He was not a doctor or a nurse or any kind of health professional and at that moment, he suddenly hated his own choice of professions because he was useless. All he knew how to do was put words together to create made-up worlds but when it came to reality, to matters of life and death, he was useless.

For the first time in a long while, he looked at his mother and saw her as a towering figure of calm, of strength, and for a moment, it was as if he was a little boy again, his mother the only stable presence in his life. He had the crazy wish to curl up on the ground at her feet, rest his head on her knee and let her run her fingers through his hair, the way he vaguely remembered doing when he'd been a little boy.

But then he blinked and he was a grown man again, someone who provided comfort, didn't receive it.

The boys were the only ones still standing up, he realized, in a corner and he jerked, suddenly remembering, and pushed himself to his feet to stride over to them.

"The hell happened?" he demanded in a furious, if choked, whisper. He knew the basic facts, had heard the distant, incongruous sound, registered the horrifying sight of Beckett falling to the ground, the blood. But what the hell!

"Sniper rifle," Esposito bit out grimly. "Had to be. Hell of a shot too, at that distance."

"Uniforms are swarming over every inch of the place," Ryan inserted.

"They damn well better find him," Espo muttered and Castle could only grunt.

A sniper. At Captain Montgomery's funeral. What did that mean? Montgomery's past, the kidnapping scheme—it had to be something… Castle couldn't think, his thoughts whirling.

Beckett. His thoughts seemed to freeze, stuttering to a stop, refocusing on the only thing that mattered. At that moment, nothing else mattered. Not even the who or why, let alone the how. The only thing that mattered was Kate.

On the thought, his gaze swiveled to Jim, the one person here who felt worse than he did. Jim was seated alone, leaning over his knees, his face covered by his hands. Castle felt a stab of compassion—and more than that, found a measure of strength. Not on his own account but for Jim and for Kate. There was nothing he could do for Kate but she loved her dad. Would never want her dad to suffer alone. And Jim had already lost so much.

For Kate—and for Jim.

Castle sank into the chair next to Jim, resting a gentle, unassuming hand on the other man's shoulder. "She's going to be fine," he began quietly, infusing a certainty he did not feel into his voice as much as possible. "She's the strongest person I've ever met." How much did a person's strength count against a bullet? He switched tacks. "This is one of the best hospitals in the city, in the country. They have the best equipment, the top doctors in the country. She'll have the best, most experienced care." That was true. One of the blessings of living here in New York City; its hospitals were some of the best in the country and as such, would have the most state-of-the-art medical equipment and talented doctors. More, as big city doctors—a city with a high crime rate in the country with the highest gun violence numbers in the world—the doctors would be experienced in treating gunshot wounds.

He felt a slight shudder go through Jim and then, after a long few minutes, Jim lifted his head, glancing at Castle with reddened eyes and lines of worry and tension carved around his mouth but appearing otherwise composed. "You're right." The words came out as a rasp and he paused, clearing his throat. "You're right, Rick," he repeated and this time, his voice was somewhat closer to that of the man Castle had first met—had it really only been a couple hours ago?

They lapsed back into silence after that but the brief exchange had, at least, served to restore a measure of his and Jim's composure. Somehow, trying to help Jim stay calm gave Castle some additional reserve of strength, made him feel less like he was on the verge of falling apart into a million pieces and only held together by fraying threads.

Castle had no idea how much time passed when Ryan received a text message on his phone and checked it, only to swear quietly but forcefully, making Castle blink and stare in shock. He'd never heard Ryan swear. Espo received a message too and his reaction was silent, glaring at his phone so fiercely that it seemed a minor miracle that his phone didn't actually combust.

Castle had a bad feeling about this and pushed himself to his feet, crossing the room to the boys. "What is it?" he asked very quietly.

The boys glanced over at Jim and at his mother before they both stood and jerked their heads to the door and he followed them out into the hall, his heart plummeting into his stomach. Something was very wrong.

"The son of a bitch got away," Esposito snarled.

"What—how—no," was all Castle could say, not coherently. No, oh no, how was that possible, to shoot a cop at a funeral for another cop with half a squadron of cops in attendance and then get away with it?

"Uniforms only found the gun—a Mark 11, modified sniper rifle that Special Forces favors—no prints and no other evidence."

"Security cameras? Witnesses? Anything?"

Ryan shook his head grimly. "Too much chaos so no one saw anything and there was only one other funeral party there at the time but they were at the other end of the cemetery, too far to see. No security cameras in the cemetery. We're pulling all the footage from the few blocks around the cemetery entrance but it'll take some time to compile and even then, it's a long shot."

It was Castle's turn to swear. And then it seemed as if his heart stopped as he realized what it meant, the sniper was still out there, roaming the streets. They weren't safe. Shit. His heart gave a kick of panic but even that was quickly drowned out as his mind returned to Beckett. Because nothing mattered except for her.

Castle blindly returned back to the waiting room, falling heavily onto a chair and scrubbing his hands down his face in a gesture meant to hold back the tears that threatened all over again.

At least he didn't break down and cry. It was the most he could claim. He paced and fretted and even gnawed on his knuckles once or twice but he didn't break down and he didn't punch anything.

His mother was the next person to break through the fog of debilitating terror and helplessness when she moved to the chair next to his. "Richard, Alexis will be getting out of school soon. What do you want to do?"

Alexis. Oh god, Alexis. For basically the first time in her life, he realized, he had essentially forgotten about his daughter's existence for hours on end. With the reminder came a desperate need to see his daughter, keep her near. Yes, he needed to see his daughter, the one person who had always made his world make sense.

But even so, he wavered for a moment because he wasn't sure he wanted Alexis to be brought here, to hold vigil in the hospital in a situation like this. He tried so hard to keep her sheltered from the brutal realities.

But she would have to be told about Beckett, would inevitably find out about it. And with a sniper loose out in the city, he needed to know his daughter was safe. And she would be safer here, in the hospital, than alone with only his mother in the loft. That decided it.

"Could you pick Alexis up and bring her back here, mother?" he asked. "And take the car service, not a taxi," he instructed. He wasn't going to allow either his mother or Alexis to use public transportation or a regular taxi for the foreseeable future.

"Of course, darling," his mother agreed immediately. "I'll be back with Alexis in a little while."

Castle spared a moment to be thankful to his mother, again, for being here, for her strength. He wasn't sure what he would have done if he'd needed to worry about Alexis and getting her to the hospital right now but it wouldn't have been good.

True to his mother's word, she returned to the hospital with Alexis sooner than he'd expected, although his grasp on the passage of time was shaky right now.

"Dad?"

The fear and worry in his daughter's voice had him surging to his feet, taking a step forward, and was just in time to catch his daughter as she dropped her backpack on the ground and threw herself at him with a fervor he couldn't remember her showing in, possibly, ever. Even when Meredith had brought her back after that unplanned jaunt to Paris years ago, Alexis had been upset but too tired to fly at him like this.

He caught her up in his arms, pressing a kiss to her hair. "It's okay, sweetie," he murmured soothingly. "I'm here, I'm fine." The automatic reassurance felt closer to a lie than he felt comfortable with telling his daughter but for once, he decided that was okay. He was fine, physically, which was, he guessed, Alexis's primary concern and the fact that he doubted he would ever be emotionally fine again if Beckett did not recover was not a reality he could put into words.

Alexis lifted her head and his arms loosened although he kept one hand on her shoulder, wanting the physical contact, although he found, for the first time in her life, that not even his daughter's magic presence could make him feel really calm. "How's Kate?" She was pale, her eyes wide with worry, his sweet daughter.

"Still in surgery," he managed to say, trying and failing to muster up a hopeful smile.

"Oh. Dad, are you—"

"I'm just glad you're here," he cut off her concerned query, not feeling quite able to utter the lie about being fine again. To make up for cutting her off, he tugged her close to his side, sliding his arm around her shoulders, and dropped a kiss on her temple.

He used the motion to shift them just enough so they were both facing Jim, who had looked up.

"Pumpkin, this is Jim Beckett. Jim, my daughter."

Alexis offered her hand with a faint smile. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Beckett."

Jim managed a smile of his own as he shook Alexis's hand, wan and brief, but a smile. "It's Alexis, right? Katie's told me a lot about you."

The words had Castle belatedly realizing that his introduction had not, in fact, included Alexis's name. He really was not thinking straight at all.

"Oh, really?"

"All good things, I promise," Jim assured with another pale flicker of a smile.

Alexis brightened a little. "Kate's really nice and she's strong. I'm sure she'll be okay," she said in something of a rush.

The lines of stress and worry deeply engraved around Jim's mouth eased a little as his expression brightened into a real, if fleeting, smile. Yeah, his daughter really might be magic.

Alexis turned her attention to the boys a few feet away, offering them a small wave. "Hi, Detectives. It's good to see you again. I was sorry to hear about Captain Montgomery."

Espo nodded at Alexis while Ryan, being Ryan, even forced a small smile. "Hey, little Castle."

This moniker had Alexis briefly dimpling into a smile but any momentary easing of tension from these social niceties vanished in an instant as Espo received a call on his cell that had him rushing out of the room with Ryan on his heels.

Castle was only peripherally aware of Alexis introducing herself to Lanie, as most of his attention was focused on the boys standing out in the hall.

The boys weren't long and the expressions on their faces were enough to tell him that whatever the call had been about, it hadn't been good news. Espo met his eyes briefly, giving a brief negative shake of his head, his expression grim. They were no closer to finding the sniper.

Ryan looked equally grim but he offered one piece of additional news, addressed to the room at large. "The Captain's family is safe at home now."

"Oh, well, that's a relief," his mother spoke up, her voice sounding abnormally loud after the subdued tones they had all been using thus far.

Castle narrowed his eyes at Ryan, who gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, and Castle understood that the Montgomerys might be at home but they would be kept under close guard for the next couple days at least, to ensure the sniper didn't try to target them.

Which reminded him, he needed to arrange for additional security at the loft. He was sure the 12th would place a uniformed officer in the lobby for the next few days but he wanted more than that before he allowed his mother or his daughter to return home. He stepped out into the hallway and made a couple calls arranging for additional security before he returned to resume his seat.

After a few minutes, Alexis moved to sit next to him, leaning against him as he slipped his arm around her shoulders. He wasn't sure if it was because she wanted comfort or because she knew he found comfort in her nearness—knowing his daughter, it could be either but he suspected it was the latter. Her presence was not the panacea it had always been but it did help, made him feel more stable, less like he was about to fall apart.

He could not allow himself to go to pieces when his little girl was around and so he wouldn't go to pieces. It was as simple as that. When Meredith had left him, cuckolded, abandoned, with a toddler to take care of entirely on his own, he had needed to keep it together, had not been able to fall apart because his daughter needed him. He could be strong for his daughter, had to be strong for his daughter. And that hadn't changed, even now, with Alexis so much older and more independent. She was still his little girl, still his to protect and take care of.

Some hours later—Castle couldn't have said how many because he felt as if he'd been waiting for news of Kate's condition for not just hours, but days, even weeks—a woman in surgical scrubs came into the room, bringing them all to their feet and converging before her in a messy group.

"Family of Katherine Beckett?"

"Yes." Jim's voice came out as a croak and he cleared his throat and repeated, "Yes. I'm her father. Is she okay? Where is she?"

The doctor regarded Jim with what to Castle's tortured mind seemed like a preternaturally gentle expression and he had to lock his knees to keep from collapsing. But then the doctor spoke. "I'm Dr. Ogawa. She's out of surgery."

She paused as there was what seemed like an explosion of sound as they all released their breaths audibly, Jim muttering "oh thank god," which was echoed by his mother with somewhat more volume. Ryan met Castle's eyes with a faint smile and clapped Espo on the shoulder.

Castle reached out blindly to rest a hand on Jim's shoulder, feeling momentarily dizzy from the rush of relief, and the other man reached up to pat his arm. And then he felt a small hand slip into his other one and turned to see Alexis, giving him a bright-eyed look, and he released Jim to wrap his arms around Alexis, briefly shutting his eyes against the sting of tears. Out of surgery—they were the most beautiful words he'd ever heard.

Dr. Ogawa waited until they were somewhat more composed and Castle hastily wiped a hand over his face, releasing Alexis and turning back towards the doctor as she went on. "Miss Beckett has been very lucky." (Castle clamped down on a crazy, hysterical laugh that he felt bubbling up. Lucky? Lucky!) "The bullet missed her heart as well as any major arteries. Given the location of the wound, it was still a major procedure to remove the bullet and repair the damage but she is out of surgery and in stable condition."

"So she's out of danger?" Jim managed huskily.

Dr. Ogawa sobered a little. "Under the circumstances, we cannot guarantee that she is out of danger at this time but her chances are very good, as good as can be expected right now. If all goes well, we should be able to declare her entirely out of danger in the next 12 hours."

Castle wasn't sure he liked the sound of that.

"Can I see her?" Jim asked now.

Castle straightened up.

"Only from through a window but you may not enter the room for another few hours to minimize the risk of infection. After that, family members will be permitted inside, one or two at a time."

"Okay," Jim nodded. "Can you take me to see her now? Please, I need to see her."

"Of course." Dr. Ogawa glanced around at the rest of them. "For now, I would suggest the rest of you go home, get some rest. We'll update you if there is any change to Miss Beckett's condition. Mr. Beckett?"

Jim glanced around the room, exchanged nods with the boys, and then briefly patted Castle's arm before he followed Dr. Ogawa out of the room.

With Jim gone—and the doctor's assurance that Beckett was out of surgery and in stable condition—they all relaxed, looking around as if they'd been in a sort of daze and were now waking up.

Castle finally checked his watch and was a little surprised to realize that it was well into the evening, 9:21 p.m. to be exact. "Mother, Alexis, why don't you go home, get some rest? Alexis, if you want, you can skip school tomorrow."

He felt his heart twist a little at the sight of Alexis's pallor, her small nod of agreement to missing school yet another indication of how upset she still was. "But Dad, what about you?"

Castle hesitated, glancing at the boys.

"We'll be at the precinct, trying to hunt down the son of a bitch who did this," Esposito growled, turning on the last word to leave the room.

"Right behind you," Ryan addressed his back before meeting Castle's eyes. "You're staying." It wasn't quite a question but wasn't quite not either.

Castle wavered. Part of him felt a desperate need to be doing _something_ after these endless hours of helplessness and going to the precinct to find the sniper was the only real way he could be actively helping right now but then, he remembered. He nodded. "Jim shouldn't be left alone." Only family, Dr. Ogawa had said. Which by the narrow legalistic definitions of a hospital meant Jim and Jim alone. Jim shouldn't be left to keep vigil alone until he could enter the hospital room. Beckett would never want that. And Castle did not want to leave Beckett either, the mere thought of leaving the building where she was making his heart clench in belated panic. No, no, he couldn't leave her.

Ryan briefly rested a hand on Castle's shoulder, nodded at everyone else, and then he too left the room, hurrying to catch up with Espo.

Castle turned to Lanie, realizing with a strange shock that he actually had not greeted Lanie properly today. He hadn't seen her at the cathedral, not that he'd really looked, and he'd only been able to exchange nods with her at the start of the burial ceremony before everything had gone to hell. For that matter, Lanie was the only old member of their little group that he hadn't seen in the past few days either.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Lanie told him. "You still have my number, Castle?"

"Yeah, I'll be in touch if anything changes," he confirmed.

Now Lanie gave him a faint smile. "By the way, it's good to have you back, writer boy."

Castle mustered up a wan smile in return, the expression feeling strange on his face. "Thanks."

Lanie left and he returned his attention to his family.

"I'll take Alexis home, Richard, but before we go, we're going to pick up some food for you and Jim."

His mother's tone did not brook disagreement but he made an attempt anyway. "Mother, that's not necessary. I'm sure Jim isn't hungry and neither am I." Just the thought of trying to eat rather turned his stomach.

"You have not eaten in more than 12 hours and you'll do no good to Katherine if you waste away from hunger so no arguments."

Castle opened his mouth to protest the idea of food again but Alexis caught his eyes, giving him one of her trademark bossy looks, and he closed his mouth. His mother could buy food if she wanted but she could hardly force-feed him.

"That's settled then. Alexis darling?"

"Coming, Grams." His daughter threw her arms around him in a hug and then she was following his mother out of the room.

Left alone, Castle fell back onto a chair and bent over his knees, covering his face and squeezing his eyes shut against the tears he felt threatening. Ridiculous, stupid tears, even if they were just a reaction to the knee-weakening relief, the release of the long hours of tension. He didn't know how long it would be before Jim returned but for now, he could only thank the fates or higher powers for the gift of Beckett's life.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: I hope everyone in the U.S. has a happy and safe Independence Day weekend. Thank you all for reading and reviewing!


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: The aftermath continues….

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 19_

"Rick?"

Shit!

Castle hastily swiped a hand down his face, removing the tell-tale tears, even if he knew it was too late and Jim must have seen them. Damn it. Being caught staring at two to-go coffee cups in a cardboard cup-holder with tears on his face had not been anywhere on his plans but then again, what on this nightmare of a day had gone according to his plans anyway?

He hastily got his expression under control as he looked up at Jim, standing just inside the door, looking at him with a compassion that made Castle inwardly squirm. "Did you see Kate?" he asked dumbly.

He supposed it was lucky that Jim was in no condition or frame of mind to care if Castle sounded inane. And then Castle abruptly hated himself for the thought; there was nothing 'lucky' in any of this and how could he even be thinking in terms of his own ego when Beckett was lying in a hospital bed?

"Yes," Jim nodded with a sound that sounded like a combination of a gasp and a choke and a sob before he clamped his lips shut for a moment, visibly swallowing.

Castle averted his eyes, feeling as if he were intruding on a private moment, and waited as Jim sank down in the seat next to Castle.

"Yes, I saw her," Jim went on after clearing his throat. "Through the window only but I saw her. She—she looks like she's sleeping."

Jim had to be lying through his teeth in saying that since Beckett was no doubt hooked up to any number of wires and machines that were keeping her alive—and thank god for them—but they would seriously mar any impression of sleep. But it was a lie to comfort and Castle certainly preferred to try and picture Beckett looking as if she were simply sleeping rather than the devastating reality.

"I felt like I was getting in the way, just standing in the hallway, so I came back here to wait," Jim finished, clearly making an effort to sound calm, practical.

Castle could only nod, not quite trusting his voice yet, and a silence fell for a long moment in which Jim was clearly looking at the small table that had been pulled forward from its spot against one of the side walls and on which had been placed a white bag with the sandwiches his mother had bought for him and Jim to eat along with the cardboard cup-holder with the two coffees that had overset Castle's tenuous grasp on composure.

Jim didn't ask or indeed say anything but after a while, Castle cleared his throat in turn and started to take out the sandwiches. "My mother brought us coffee and sandwiches to eat."

Jim jerked backwards in a quick move of rejection. "Oh, no, I couldn't eat anything. Not hungry."

Castle met the other man's eyes squarely. "My mother insisted. She said we would be no use to Kate if we don't take care of ourselves." His mother had a point, although he had not told her so, and Alexis had neatly cornered him into promising to try to eat. He paused and then finished, quietly, "Kate wouldn't want you to not eat on her account." He felt a twinge at the not-at-all subtle manipulation and of this man he had just met today but it was true and for Kate's sake, Castle would do a lot worse. Castle felt as if keeping Kate's wishes in mind was just about all that was holding him upright.

For a long minute, his and Jim's gazes held in a small clash of wills but then Jim conceded the battle with a sigh. "Fine, Rick. If you eat too."

"Deal."

The two men exchanged nods and then they ate. Gulped down the coffee and ate the sandwiches.

For once, Castle didn't bother to doctor his coffee but gulped it down black and as for the sandwich, he ate it but afterwards, he couldn't have said what kind of sandwich it was. It could have been made out of cardboard for all he tasted or cared and he suspected Jim would have said the same. But they ate and afterwards, he had to admit that he felt marginally more alive as if the very mundane act of masticating food had restored some sense of normalcy to a world that felt as if it had been turned on its axis.

Castle finished off his coffee but then held the coffee cup in his hand, staring at it. Well, sort of staring at it. His eyes were technically fixed on the cup in his hand but what he really saw in his mind were the cups from the coffee shop he usually stopped at in the morning to buy his and Beckett's coffees. Saw dozens of coffee hand-offs from him to her, the blink of surprise she had given him when he had given her the first coffee more than two years ago to the smile she had given him just the other morning in the precinct when he'd last brought her coffee.

Just coffee. When had coffee started to mean so much to him, to _them_? When had he started to think of coffee as something he and Beckett shared, a sort of connection between them? He didn't know but Castle was certain that he would never again be able to drink coffee without thinking of Beckett. For good or for ill.

"It's the coffee," he found himself blurting out before he'd realized it and only belatedly realized how little sense the statement made, out of the blue like that.

"The coffee?" Jim repeated carefully. His tone was mildly curious but not at all tinged with any other question or doubt as to Castle's sanity, for example.

When had he decided to tell Jim Beckett about this? Easy answer, he hadn't decided any such thing but his unruly mouth appeared to have decided for him, short of letting Beckett's dad think he might be crazy.

"Before—and over the last few days—I usually brought coffee for Beckett in the mornings," he explained, jerkily. "Two coffees, one for me and one for her, I mean. It started early on, almost right from the beginning of shadowing her. Well, after I tried the coffee in the precinct that's terrible."

"You bought an espresso machine for the precinct," Jim interjected. Castle glanced at Jim in some surprise and Jim managed a faint smile. "Katie mentioned it. She sounded… grudgingly grateful."

That surprised a raspy bark of a chuckle from Castle, quickly truncated and startling them both, it seemed, but Castle felt his lips curve slightly, a little spark of warmth kindling in his chest. "I can imagine." He remembered startling Beckett in the break room just after he'd bought the machine, the quick glimpse of her eyes closing as she'd breathed in the scent of the latte she'd just made on his machine—and, of course, her (adorable) pretense that she still didn't want his machine around. "She hated me back then." Even to his own ears, he knew he sounded stupidly fond but he couldn't help it.

"I wouldn't say she hated you," Jim corrected mildly. "Found you irritating, yes, but not hate."

Amazingly, Castle's lips twitched again. "Maybe. I had, um, already noted how she liked her coffee…"

"A latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla," Jim murmured. Of course he knew too.

"Yes," Castle confirmed, looking down and turning the cup of coffee in his hand, remembering that first cup years ago. "We got called out to a scene really early one morning on one of those first cases and I stopped and bought coffee the way she liked it and gave it to her." He couldn't even remember the impulse or the thought that had prompted the action but it seemed now that it might have been the start, the first thing he had really done for Beckett herself. The sort of small, more personal gesture he now knew Beckett preferred rather than the flashy gestures he'd been in the habit of performing—and performing was the correct term—for other women.

"And then, somehow, I kept on doing it, bringing her coffee." Castle trailed off, shrugged. "It was… it seemed like the only thing we had in common at first, that we both love coffee," he admitted slowly, realizing belatedly it was true. Maybe that was at least partly why he had kept on buying her coffee, because it had been a commonality between them even back when Beckett had seemed to live to disagree with him.

"Katie told me once, in passing, that you'd bought her coffee. She also mentioned that you noticed things, were perceptive. Like the way you noticed her coffee order."

"I'm a writer; I'm used to observing." Castle gave the standard answer. It was true as far as it went but it wasn't the whole truth because, of course, from the beginning, he had simply found Kate Beckett to be fascinating. He hadn't been able to help noticing things about her because he had, from the first, wanted to learn everything there was to know about her.

There was another brief silence, this time broken by Jim. "Liking coffee is something Katie and I share too. My wife wasn't much for coffee."

Jim's wife. Beckett's mom. The mention of Johanna startled Castle, all the more because of the ease with which Jim had spoken of his wife. An ease he didn't think—no, he knew—that Beckett did not have when it came to talking about her mom. An ease that showed that somehow, amazingly, Jim Beckett really had managed to come to terms with his loss, find a sort of peace. Good god, how strong must the man be? Castle felt a twinge of something like awe along with a healthy dose of respect creep into the liking he already felt for Jim.

Castle had no idea what to say in response. 'I didn't know that' was all that came to mind but it was too inane and trivial a response but at the same time, he didn't know how to acknowledge in so many words Jim's reference to his wife who had been murdered.

Finally, after rather too long a pause, he came up with, "My mother's not a coffee drinker either." brilliant repartee it was not and he inwardly cringed as he thought that his words sounded as if he were trying to somehow compare his mother—who was still alive and well—with Johanna, who was very much not.

"Thank your mother for the coffee and the sandwiches," Jim responded.

"I will."

There was another silence, somewhat longer this time, in which Jim set down his now-empty coffee cup and after a minute, Castle took the initiative to stand and toss out the detritus of their meal, including the empty coffee cups. He didn't need a prop to keep Beckett on his mind.

The silence went on for long enough that Castle was a little surprised when Jim broke it. "Later, when they start letting people into Katie's room, I've arranged it so you'll be allowed in as well."

Castle blinked and stared, his sluggish mind needing a second to comprehend what Jim had said, his slow reaction not sped up by the very matter-of-factness of Jim's tone, as if he were simply announcing what day it was and not the incredible announcement it was. Castle would be allowed in, allowed to see Kate—treated as her family. "What—but I—how—" was all he could stammer.

Jim met and held his eyes. "I told the nurses that you're Katie's partner." He paused and then went on, blandly, "Which you are, at the precinct. If the nurses happened to misunderstand and assume I meant partner in any other sense, that's not my fault."

Castle choked on air, a sound that might almost have been the beginnings of a laugh if it had been allowed to grow up escaping him. A laugh or maybe a sob, his heart clenching sharply as he was forcibly reminded of Beckett, her cleverness, the deadpan way in which she announced her cleverness sometimes. "That's―thank you," he blurted out fervently.

Jim only nodded. "No need to thank me. I did it for Katie. When she wakes up, it's… not going to be easy and I don't want her to be alone. She won't like it if I'm around 24/7; she'll worry and won't allow me to stay with her all the time."

"I can stay with her. I will stay with her," Castle volunteered—or rather, accepted the unspoken commission Jim had just assigned to him. He understood. Jim was right; there was no way Beckett would allow her dad to stay with her in the hospital around the clock. Even laid up in a hospital bed, she wouldn't allow it even if she had to enlist the hospital staff to physically ban Jim from the building at intervals. And fretting over Jim was the last thing Beckett should have on her mind. But between the two of them, Castle was reasonably sure he and Jim could ensure Beckett was never left alone and could do so without sacrificing Beckett's peace of mind. At least not too much. She was going to hate being helpless, hate being a patient, he already knew that, but well, he and Jim would have to deal with that too.

Jim nodded again, now looking away, focusing his gaze on something out in the hall. "I know you care about Katie, Rick." His tone was mild but Castle was abruptly and forcibly reminded that he had actually kissed Beckett in the cemetery—briefly but still, her dad had been right there! He hadn't thought, hadn't been capable of thought really, his mind frozen in panic and grief and regret. He'd believed—feared—it was the end, that he'd lost her. Lost her before he'd ever really had her, lost her before they could even begin to explore what might be between them. One last kiss.

Castle shoved the memories out of his mind, sharply reminding himself that it hadn't been the end, that Beckett was out of surgery and stable. He hadn't lost her.

"And I know my daughter. Katie might not have said anything, she keeps her own counsel, but I know she cares about you too. She trusts you."

Castle choked again, clamping his lips shut. God, oh god, he didn't know what he had ever done to deserve this, to have Kate Beckett's father telling him in so many words that Beckett cared about him and trusted him, a gesture of trust on Jim's part too, but he vowed that he would live up to it. Whatever Beckett needed, he would do it, he would be there for her, stay with her. Always.

Jim paused and after a long moment, finally glanced at Castle again, who had to fight to meet the other man's eyes, feeling rather as if he'd been stripped bare but he wasn't about to hide how he felt from Jim now. Jim's lips twisted ruefully as he added, "Katie will hate that I've told you this."

"Secret's safe with me, sir," Castle managed to respond, a little huskily, the term of respect slipping out automatically. He felt rather as if he'd accepted a mission from a commanding officer.

Jim reached out and patted Castle's hand. "I believe it, Rick."

There was another pause in which Castle tried to compose himself. He felt as if the earth had broken apart beneath his feet while bursting into bloom around him at the same time.

Jim's gaze was again fixed somewhere out in the hall, although from his expression, Castle guessed he didn't really see anything. "I don't want my daughter to be alone…" The words were so quiet, almost as if he were speaking mostly to himself.

Alone—and Castle understood that Jim did not mean in the physical sense but the emotional one. He saw it too, what Jim undoubtedly saw when he looked at his daughter's life. There was a quality of aloneness to Beckett, of loneliness. In spite of the presence of Jim, of the boys, of Lanie. In spite of his own self in the last week, whatever small part Castle had played in helping Beckett lately. She was so self-reliant, so independent, so reticent. She was strong enough and capable enough that she could—and did—function on her own well enough but as Donne had put it, no man is an island. More than that, Castle was a father too and he knew that a parent wanted more for his child. Beckett could survive on her own if anyone could—she'd proven that—but it wasn't about surviving, it was about thriving.

"She won't be alone, not if I can help it," Castle promised quietly.

"Thank you."

That was all.

He and Jim settled in to wait and hope and pray through the long watches of the night.

And it was a long night, the longest night of Castle's life, including some nights when Alexis had been sick and he'd stayed up to care for her because, as much as he had fretted over Alexis at those times, she had never been very sick. This vigil was very different, so much worse, with black terror still gnawing at him.

Jim left at intervals to peer through the window of Beckett's room but other than that, he and Castle remained in the waiting room. Castle was vaguely surprised when he eventually realized it was morning when he saw the sunlight slanting in through the windows.

Morning and Beckett was still alive, had made it through the night. It was a good sign.

Even so, it seemed like a small eternity before another doctor, a tall Hispanic man, entered the waiting room. "Mr. Beckett?"

Jim jerked to his feet. "Yes? Is Katie okay? Has there been any change?"

"I'm Dr. Flores, assisting Dr. Ogawa. Miss Beckett passed an uneventful night and her vital signs have remained steady so we are able to pronounce her out of danger at this time."

Oh thank god. Out of danger, Beckett was out of danger. She was going to live. Jim had given in to tears of relief and Castle reached out to rest a hand on the other man's shoulder. Jim released a shaky breath, wiping a hand over his face, visibly composing himself before he looked back up at the doctor.

"We expect Miss Beckett to regain consciousness soon if you would like to return to her room with me, Mr. Beckett. Patients are often disoriented when they awaken for the first time and it is helpful to have a familiar face in the room." Dr. Flores turned to Castle for the first time. "Mr. Castle, I believe? I understand from Mr. Beckett that you are Miss Beckett's partner. If you like, you may join us in her room."

Oh, he wanted to, he really wanted to. Castle felt a tug of longing so fierce it felt like something was physically pulling him to where Beckett was but he sternly resisted. It wasn't his place, not really, and more importantly, he had no assurance of whether Beckett would want to see him so immediately. Not in her state of weakness, not the Beckett he knew. He might be desperate to see her but his own wishes didn't matter. All that mattered was Beckett and right now, with their relationship as new and fragile as it was, no, he couldn't be sure she would want to see him.

Her partner—if he really were her partner in life as well as the precinct, he could—and it occurred to him that partner might be the most beautiful word in the English language. Second, of course, to 'alive.' And 'out of danger,' for that matter.

He turned to Jim. "You go on, Jim. I need to make a few phone calls, tell everyone the news." He forced a small smile that felt stiff on his lips. "I'm pretty sure Esposito would hurt me if I didn't let them know first thing."

Jim nodded and didn't argue, his expression distracted enough that Castle could see that at least half of Jim's mind was already focused on his daughter, which was understandable.

"Go and see Kate," he repeated. "I'll be here."

Jim and Dr. Flores left the room and Castle felt as if they took his meager composure with them as he collapsed back into his chair, his breaths coming fast and shaky, too fast considering he hadn't done anything. He bent over his knees and shut his eyes against the burning tears, trying to compose himself.

God, he was falling apart. Ridiculous, absurd, really. He and Beckett were barely together, hardly a couple in any real sense since a few kisses and an agreement to go on a date didn't count as a relationship but already, it seemed that without her, he was useless, couldn't hold himself together.

It took some time—how long Castle didn't know—but he did regain control of himself, going to the bathroom to splash water on his face, before he returned to the waiting room and started making calls, starting with Ryan, to spread the news. The boys were still at the precinct, had been there all night from what Ryan said, and had no real leads as to the sniper's identity, although they were still looking, a grimly determined note in Ryan's tone that Castle wasn't sure he'd ever heard before that indicated that Ryan and Esposito would keep on searching for the sniper for the rest of their lives until they found him.

He followed the call to Ryan with a call to Lanie and then to Alexis to find out how she was doing and hearing his daughter's voice helped to knit up the raveling edges of his hold on his composure. Alexis sounded a little tired but her voice brightened up immediately once he told her that Beckett was out of danger until she sounded almost like her usual self. He found himself smiling, without having to force it, the sound of her so familiar, so dear voice kindling embers of warmth in his chest.

The restorative effects of talking to Alexis did not last for very long once the call ended and he was once more sitting hunched over his knees, holding his head in his hands, when he heard the sound of footsteps—not Jim's, he somehow instinctively sensed—and a quick knock and jerked his head up to see a nurse.

"Mr. Castle?"

"Yes?"

"They're asking for you."

"They—Beckett?" he rasped and then almost tripped over his own feet in his rush to stand up.

He ran a hasty hand over his hair, grimacing as he realized how disheveled and unkempt he undoubtedly looked—but he was going to see Beckett, who was alive—and really, nothing else mattered.

His field of vision narrowed until he could not have sworn he actually saw anything of the hallway, the other rooms, or the people he passed along the way until the nurse—he didn't catch her name—pointed to an open door and he made his way a few steps forward until he was almost in the doorway and stopped dead as if he'd run into an invisible wall.

Beckett. Oh god, Beckett. She was lying on a hospital gurney, hooked up to a number of wires, a heart monitor steadily beeping beside the bed. She was pale, paler than he'd ever seen, her eyes, eyebrows and her hair providing the only color, stark and appearing very dark in contrast to her pallor. For the first time ever, she looked small and—worst of all—frail. It was so utterly wrong. He knew, intellectually, that Beckett was shorter than he was and certainly, she was slim enough that no one would ever refer to her as having a large build but there was an energy to her that gave her an outsized presence relative to her physical size. And certainly, he had never, ever even imagined using the word, frail, in the same sentence as Beckett.

But even as he reeled from the shock of her appearance, the greater part of him focused on the fact that her eyes were open and she was alive. _Alive_, wonderfully, miraculously alive. And he realized in that second that some part of him had not quite been able to believe it until now, when he could see her with his own eyes.

He belatedly became aware of Jim bending over the bed, holding on to one of her hands, and Jim was the first one to become aware of his presence, looking up at him.

His heart clenched. If Beckett were anywhere close to her usual self, he would never have been able to approach her without her noticing.

Beckett shifted her head a little, her eyes finding his as Castle managed to uproot his feet from the floor and actually enter her room.

"Hey." His voice came out as a croak and he stopped, swallowing back the lump in his throat, before he tried again. "You're awake."

Beckett blinked slowly. "Castle." Her voice was little more than a whisper, a shadow of her usual brisk tones, but he decided it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. "You're… here."

"Always," he blurted out unthinkingly, hearing the small choke in his voice and stopping with some horror as he realized just how close to tears he was. He had been so afraid, so terrified to the depths of his soul, that he might lose her for good and just when he'd found her again. Just when he'd begun to realize how deeply, how irrevocably, in love with her he was.

"Well, with Rick here, I'll just step out for a minute, use the restroom," Jim inserted, speaking with entirely artificial ease that was almost painful to hear. "Be right back, Katie-bug."

A faint frown flickered across her face but she tipped up her lips in a wan attempt at a smile for Jim's benefit. "Sure, Dad."

Jim left and Beckett's eyes returned to him. "Dad said… you've been here all night." Her words came slowly, a little slurred, no strength in her voice. She sounded as much like the Beckett he knew as the sound of a day-old kitten mewling compared to the roar of a fully grown lion.

He inwardly flinched at the comparison but he forced as much cheer into his voice as he could. "I didn't want to leave your dad alone." His voice sounded bizarre to his own ears but it was all he could do.

"Thanks." Her eyelids fluttered and he could see that she was, already, tired out from even this. After being awake for perhaps a half hour or so? She blinked, her eyes refocusing and for the first time, he saw the flicker of Beckett-ness in her gaze, recognized her clear determination to keep alert for a little longer. His heart leaped. She was still Beckett. Subdued but still herself.

"You look scruffy."

Definitely still Beckett. He felt a real smile curve his lips, one that took no effort, even as stupid tears pricked at the back of his eyes. "It's my rugged look." Actually, he suspected that he had passed 'rugged' and was well on his way to the 'homeless bum' look. As repartee went, it was pathetic and his tone missed bantering by a mile. For the first time in his life, his humor had utterly deserted him.

"Look like… the old you, like the night we met."

He winced slightly. He didn't like the reminder of what he'd been, the way he'd treated her that first night, the half-teasing leers, the automatic come-ons. His old self had been the one who had ended up driving her away. "Um, sorry?" He had no idea what else to say, didn't exactly want to remind her that she'd hated him back then.

"'S okay. You weren't so bad. Annoying but kinda cute."

He blinked. Well, now he knew she had to be heavily medicated. At any other time, he would have crowed about her saying he was cute but at that moment, all he felt was a surge of hope. It wasn't much but it was the first real hint that she still cared, that she remembered saying she wanted to be in a relationship. Before, the old Beckett would probably have cut off her own limbs before calling him cute.

He took a step closer to the bed, slowly, tentatively reaching out so his fingers brushed hers. She didn't retract her hand or otherwise shake off his touch. No, her fingers turned, curling a little, but the small movement told him enough and he gently moved his hand to fully hold hers, although he was careful to keep his grasp as gentle as if her hand was made out of the most delicate crystal. He could only dare so far and pushing was the last thing he would do—but she let him hold her hand.

He might have stopped breathing. He certainly started a little when Jim returned and Castle felt himself flushing a little as he saw the other man's gaze immediately notice the joined hands resting on the bed. He would have released her hand but he felt her fingers move ever so slightly, a shy sort of nestling further within his hold—if the term 'shy' could ever be applicable to Beckett—and he froze. No, he wasn't going anywhere, not as long as Beckett wanted him there.

Aside from the one look, Jim didn't otherwise react to seeing Castle hold his daughter's hand.

Beckett blinked some more, slowly, clearly losing the battle to stay awake. "'M tired. You should go, get some sleep, Dad."

Jim reached out to brush a few strands of hair away from her face. "You sure? I don't mind staying."

"Go home and rest, Dad." For the first time, there was the faintest tinge of the old Beckett command in her tone.

"Well, I don't want to leave you alone but if Rick will stay with you, I suppose I can…" Jim made a show of hesitating, even as he pointedly met Castle's eyes for a moment.

Castle nodded very slightly, even as he said aloud, "Sure, I can stay, Jim."

Beckett didn't appear to be pleased by this but apparently accepted that Jim was determined not to leave her alone. "Okay." In anyone else, Castle might have termed her voice and her expression as petulant but this was Beckett and she didn't pout. Not even in this extremity.

But she also hadn't noticed his little exchange with Jim giving away their benevolent conspiracy. Which was something that would normally have never escaped Beckett's eagle-eyed notice. It might be a good thing, at least for his and Jim's continued peace of mind, but as a sign of how much of a shadow of her usual self Beckett had been reduced to, it pained him.

Jim reached up with a careful hand to smooth some strands of hair away from her face and tapped his fingers lightly against her cheek in a gesture that reminded Castle of some of the teasing caresses he gave Alexis.

Castle belatedly averted his eyes, conscious of an odd sense of realization or something. He'd never viewed Beckett as anyone's child—even knowing about her mom, Beckett was so much an adult, independent and self-sufficient, that some corner of his mind had tended to assume she had always been a fully-grown adult, as if she'd emerged into the world fully mature like Athena from Zeus's forehead. Even meeting Jim or hearing him refer to Beckett by the childish moniker of Katie had not fully changed that. But now, seeing Jim with Beckett, he could picture Beckett as a child, a little girl Jim had no doubt given piggyback rides to and soothed after the little bumps and scrapes of childhood. And now Jim had seen his precious child shot right in front of him. Castle inwardly flinched at the very thought.

Jim bent and kissed his daughter's forehead. "I'll be back later today, Katie, and I'll bring some things from your apartment for you. Get some sleep."

"Okay, thanks, Dad."

"I'll see you later, Rick. Thank you for staying with Katie."

"It's no trouble. I'll see you this afternoon."

Beckett's eyes were already closing as Jim left, betraying just how much she'd been forcing herself to stay alert for her dad's benefit. Jim really did know his daughter very well, Castle thought.

Her eyes fluttered open for a moment. "Night, Castle," she mumbled.

"Sleep, Beckett," he lowered his voice to a whisper.

Her eyes drifted closed again and it wasn't long before he felt her hand go slack in his, her breathing becoming deep and regular. And over it all, the steady, reassuring sound of her heart monitor.

The intimacy of it, of watching her fall asleep, of seeing her asleep at all, took his breath away. He'd never seen Beckett lying down in a bed—although a hospital bed was not a place he would ever have imagined seeing her—never seen her asleep before.

Reluctantly, Castle released her hand and sank down onto the single visitor chair in the room. He settled in to watch Beckett sleep, treasuring her every breath, every twitch of movement. She was alive and that was all he needed.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!


	20. Chapter 20

Author's Note: Apologies for not posting last week but RL got in the way.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 20_

Castle was the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes.

It seemed fitting, too, since he'd been the first thing she'd thought of when she had first regained consciousness, once the initial spike of panic as she'd remembered falling to the ground, the burning pain in her chest—oh god, she'd been shot. She'd been shot and she was in a hospital. And Castle had been there, had been crying… so when her dad mentioned that Castle was still in the hospital, had been waiting all night, it had been easy to agree to see Castle. And she'd been too tired, her mind too foggy, to think anything else. She'd been acting on instinct and at the most basic level, she had wanted to see Castle, reassure him that she was still alive.

Hurting but still alive. It had been all she'd known, all she'd been able to think in the short time she'd been conscious.

She had fallen asleep, she belatedly realized, wasn't sure how long she had slept, but Castle was still there, seated beside her bed. His chin was resting on his hand and he appeared to have dozed off out of sheer exhaustion. She'd never seen him look so tired or so rumpled. There were dark shadows under his eyes, at least a day's worth of a beard darkening his cheeks and chin. Stupidly, she found herself wondering what his stubble would feel like under her hand—or against her cheek.

Wait, what was she thinking? The sheer inappropriateness of the thought jolted her into more awareness.

She felt stiff, a dull pain along her side and on her chest that was enough evidence to know that it would be excruciatingly painful if it weren't for very high doses of pain medication. She'd never felt this level of exhaustion, as if just keeping her eyes open took all the energy she had, and making any other movements would be entirely beyond her. And she was decidedly hazy, felt strangely floaty and somehow heavy at the same time if that made any sense, her thoughts sluggish so thinking felt something like wading through a swamp.

Her eyes drifted back to Castle. She didn't think she'd ever seen him asleep before. She hadn't, right? As cloudy as her mind was, it took a minute before she could confirm that no, she hadn't seen him asleep before.

It was odd, seeing Castle, who always seemed so energetic, so still, his usually mobile expression smoothed out in sleep, although he didn't look entirely peaceful, a small frown lingering between his brows as if he was still worried over something in his sleep. He was worried about her.

She remembered the way he'd stared at her when he'd first entered the room, the lines of concern etched on his face. The depths of his concern and his caring clear to be seen on his face, his defenses completely lowered. It was strange, to look at him and realize just how much of his emotions he had kept hidden before. Even the glimpses she'd seen in the last week of how much he cared had only been surface reflections, not really showing even a fraction of what he felt. Another image, a memory, swam into her mind: Castle's expression in the cemetery when she'd been giving the eulogy. He'd looked at her as if she was amazing, as extraordinary as he called her. Looked at her as if… he thought he loved her…

He wasn't looking at her like that anymore. And how could he? She wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't the strong detective he'd always known before.

And she knew what she had to do.

She had to let him go. Whatever had happened between them before, their agreement to try for a relationship, didn't matter. Everything had changed, everything was different now. It had to be different.

For a day, a few hours, she'd thought, hoped, that she could do this, that she could be more, could be enough for him. But that had been then.

She looked at Castle again, taking in his dishevelment, her damaged heart seeming to twist in her chest. This was what she'd done to him. She was the reason he looked like such a wreck, as if he hadn't slept in days.

She couldn't do this, couldn't hold onto him. She had to send him away. Castle would never say so himself; he was too kind and only someone completely callous would end a relationship, even one that was barely a relationship at all, when the other person had almost died. But he would be staying with her out of compassion, even pity, because he was worried about her. There could be no other reason, not now.

She couldn't be a burden on him like this. The woman Castle had fallen for, the one he'd wanted to be in a relationship with, had been the strong, capable detective. He wanted the woman he thought was extraordinary, the cop who had inspired Nikki Heat. And she wasn't that person anymore; she had nothing to give him anymore.

She tried to lift one arm, the one on the side that did not feel tight with pain, and it took all she had just to lift her arm a few inches and even then, she couldn't hold it for more than a few seconds, her arm falling back to the mattress with a little hiss of exertion. She felt stupid, ridiculous tears pricking at her eyes. It was so pathetic but she couldn't even lift her own arm, couldn't sit up, certainly could not walk.

And the bandages on her chest and on her side were yet more proof that her body was damaged now. She'd been cut up and sewn back together again, her body irrevocably marked, scarred for life.

She was too weak, too helpless, too damaged. Castle deserved better, deserved so much more than what she could give. He deserved to be with someone whole and undamaged, someone who wasn't broken, someone who could make him happy, someone who could brighten up his life the way he was so good at doing for others.

Castle could be with anyone he wanted; any woman would be lucky to be with Castle. He could—would—find someone better. Someone who wouldn't drag him down into a world that revolved around death, someone who wouldn't only take from him, like a parasite, using him for his kindness and his strength and his humor.

It might hurt him for a while. She didn't kid herself that it would be easy, for her or for him—but Castle would recover and eventually, he would realize that it was for the best, that he was better off without her. And she—well, she would manage, she always had before. She was used to it, to living without Castle—or at least, she would accustom herself to it again.

She knew what she had to do and she would do it. Later. When she had some modicum of energy for the argument she knew Castle would try to make.

She lost the battle to keep her eyes open, felt the black waves of exhaustion pulling her under again. She succumbed to the call of Morpheus, despondent but determined.

* * *

Castle startled awake, his head jerking as his chin slipped off his hand, panic spiking through him.

His eyes immediately focused on Beckett and the panic receded slowly as he registered that she was still asleep, her breathing slow and regular, her heart monitor still beeping. And he thought, hoped, that there was a little more color in her lips, her cheeks, so she didn't look quite so pale.

God, she was beautiful. The thought, inappropriate as it was, slipped into his mind, giving him a moment's pause but he couldn't deny its truth. Of course she was beautiful. It was a fact of life, on par with the sun rising in the east.

And it was amazing, to have her face be the first one he saw when he opened his eyes.

She was, literally, a sleeping beauty. Inane thought but it occurred to him that he might try calling her Sleeping Beauty when she was awake and she might reward him with an eye roll and possibly a snarky retort. (It wasn't strange to think of an eye roll as a reward of sorts, was it?)

She was still sleeping but now, it belatedly occurred to him that she didn't look as if she were sleeping very peacefully, the faintest frown wrinkling her forehead, a tightness to the set of her lips. Immediate worry had him jerking to his feet, stepping to the side of the bed and bending over her. He didn't want to wake her—he knew sleep was the best thing for her right now—but if she was in pain… Where—he looked wildly around until his eyes found the small tab half-hidden by her hand, the one that was connected to the morphine drip attached to one of the IV lines. Very carefully, he shifted her hand aside and pressed the button just once, afraid of doing anything more, and then gently cradled her hand in his. It was the only caress he dared and he forgot to breathe for a long minute as he watched her face, waiting for what he wasn't quite sure, any sign of a change. It took some time, another short eternity, but very slowly, he felt his muscles unlock. She was still sleeping soundly, her heart monitor holding steady, and the faint frown on her forehead had smoothed out.

It was the first time in what seemed like days that he felt as if he had managed to help, as if he wasn't entirely useless.

Although, he realized, there was something more he could do. He wasn't sure how much the NYPD's health insurance would cover; he was sure it would be adequate under normal circumstances but these weren't normal circumstances and he could ensure Beckett had better than adequate care. When she was ready to be released from the ICU, he could ensure she was in a private hospital room, not shared with another patient. He could ensure she could get not just the minimum of physical therapy covered by insurance but as much as she needed or wanted to return to her usual fitness.

He made a mental note to mention it to Jim and then have a private word or two with the hospital administrator to arrange things.

Now that he had at least one concrete thing planned to help Beckett, he felt somewhat better. It wasn't quite enough for him to rest or even sit down and he passed the time hovering by Beckett's bedside, watching her sleep. It was undoubtedly the longest time he had ever had to look at Beckett undisturbed. He could hear her voice in his mind as she tartly informed him that staring was creepy and thought that he would give every cent he had if she would wake up and tell him off for creepy staring.

He only ceded his position by Beckett's bed when first a nurse and then Dr. Ogawa stopped in at intervals to check on Beckett's vital signs. Beckett briefly roused for each visit but soon slipped back into sleep and Castle resumed his vigil.

"How is she, Rick?"

Castle started, turning to see Jim. "Oh, Jim, hi. You're back already?"

Jim raised his eyebrows a little. "Already? It's almost 4 in the afternoon; half the day's gone by."

He blinked. "Oh, is it?" he responded vaguely. He'd lost all sense of time passing aside from the visits by the nurse and Dr. Ogawa. "She's still sleeping. Her vital signs have held steady and the doctor says she's doing as well as can be expected."

"That's good." Jim's tone was absent as he set down a backpack and bent over the bed, lifting a hand to ever so gently smooth away a tendril of hair away from Beckett's face. For a fleeting moment, there was so much naked worry and love on his face that Castle abruptly turned away, bending down and picking a nonexistent speck off his already grubby pant legs, realizing with a strange sense of unreality that he was still wearing the formal, dark suit he'd worn to Captain Montgomery's funeral. Of course he was; he hadn't left the hospital and he hadn't given so much as a passing thought to his clothes. Had the funeral really only been yesterday?

When Castle straightened up again, Jim once more had his expression under control. Jim rested a brief hand on Castle's shoulder. "Thanks for staying with Katie. Why don't you go home, get some rest? I can stay with Katie for now."

He didn't want to leave, felt an immediate revulsion at the idea, a terror that he vaguely recognized was irrational that if he left, he didn't know what would happen to Beckett. "I'm not—" he began but his words broke off as there was a soft rustling from the bed, a little sigh.

Both he and Jim spun to the bed, forgetting everything else, and Jim hurriedly stepped over to the bedside, bending over.

Beckett's eyes fluttered open slowly and she blinked, her eyes flitting over Castle to fix on her dad. "Dad," she managed in a croak.

Her voice, sounding so unlike her, made his chest hurt with an almost physical pain.

Her mouth had to be dry, her throat irritated. He remembered the nurse saying something to that effect. Castle immediately picked up the small cup of ice chips, now water, that the nurse had brought in on her visit and handed it to Jim, who used a spoon to dribble some water into Beckett's mouth. Castle was reminded of the way Alexis would tip her head back, open-mouthed, for a squirt of whip cream, his baby bird. And then absurdly wanted to cry because it was so wrong, so very unlike Beckett, to be reduced to this, being spoon-fed dribbles of water.

"Better now, Katie?" Jim held the cup out blindly for Castle to take and place back on the hospital tray.

"Yes, thanks," Beckett responded, her voice still weak but clearer now. "Did you… get some rest?"

"I had a nice long nap," Jim answered—untruthfully, Castle guessed on a closer look at the man. Jim had clearly showered and dressed with some care, if casually, in jeans and a polo shirt, but his eyes were reddened and lines of exhaustion showed around his mouth.

"Good," Beckett murmured and then after a pause, "Still here, Castle?"

Castle took an immediate step towards the bed. "Of course."

She blinked at him. "Don't have to stay."

He attempted a smile, a parody of his usual quips. "I've got nothing else to do so I might as well stay."

"Go home, check on Alexis."

It was so like Beckett to think of Alexis even now, feel concern for someone else when she was the one who was lying in a hospital bed, so weak her voice was little more than a whisper.

The mention of Alexis made Castle hesitate, torn between his wish to check on his daughter and his need to stay close to Beckett.

He _should_ check on Alexis; he was concerned about her, about how she would be coping, reacting to all that had happened. Meredith notwithstanding, he had tried so hard to make sure that Alexis always had a stable, secure home life and he thought he'd succeeded. More, he knew that Alexis's life had been untouched by violence. For all that he wrote about violence and murders in his books, that was always fiction and he'd tried to ensure that the real life crime he researched for his books stayed well away from Alexis. Certainly, she'd never before known someone who'd been the victim of a violent crime, let alone been shot. Until now. Yes, he should check on Alexis—and yet…

Jim chimed in. "Yes, go get some rest, Rick. Like I said, I can stay with Katie now and you've been here all night."

For the first time since his daughter had been born, the thought of her was not the strongest influence. It made him feel strangely unbalanced, the realization that Alexis was no longer the sole center of his life, no longer the single most important person to him. Somehow, Beckett had joined Alexis as the two most important people in his life, equal centers of gravity in his universe.

The thought did, in an inverse sort of way, make his decision for him as he was reminded that Beckett was the single most important person in Jim's life—Jim, who had no one else. Giving Jim some time alone with his daughter took precedence. "All right but I'll be back later tonight." For the night shift. He met Jim's eyes and the other man gave an almost imperceptible nod of agreement.

"Don't have to," Beckett demurred, still sounding so weak it almost hurt to hear it. Her eyes were already starting to close so she didn't meet his eyes and that pained him too, the loss of Beckett's usual direct gaze. He was glad, so very glad, to his soul that she was alive and awake and healing but oh, did it hurt to see her like this.

Castle briefly gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'll be back tonight, Beckett," he repeated quietly. "Jim."

He exchanged a nod and faint smile of farewell with Jim and then forced his legs to function to leave the hospital room.

Castle survived the trip back to the loft. Which felt like some sort of refined torture, every additional yard placed between him and the hospital winding the coil of worry and fear inside him tighter and tighter until it seemed like a minor miracle that he wasn't physically shaking with it. He knew—_knew_—the level of corrosive fear he felt was irrational, that just because he could no longer see Beckett, wasn't in the same room or building, would not change her condition. It was as if he'd been reduced to a child playing peek-a-boo so he believed if he closed his own eyes and could no longer see, the object would cease to exist.

Irrational—but then Castle heard Beckett's voice in her mind commenting sardonically that it wasn't as if logic and rationality had ever been his strong suit. The vise that had clamped around his heart tightened again and he was suddenly sure he would never breathe easily again until Beckett was once again her old self, teasing him, pricking at his ego, keeping him on his toes. He just… needed her in his life.

His decision to return home was validated by the way Alexis leaped up at his entrance, flinging herself at him as if she hadn't seen him in weeks. "Dad! You're home! How's Kate?"

"Oh, Richard, you look terrible," was his mother's contribution but the words were concerned rather than tart and she too greeted him with a hug and he wrapped his arms around his mother, finding a small measure of comfort in her familiar scent.

He answered Alexis's and his mother's questions about Kate's condition, unchanged and holding steady, and then his mother assumed an air of brisk command, unusual for her, and directed him to get cleaned up and take a nap while she and Alexis prepared dinner. He obeyed, mostly because he was too tired to argue.

The suit he'd worn to Montgomery's funeral was grubby and stained and it was an easy decision to throw it out because aside from anything else, he couldn't imagine ever wanting to so much as look at it again, let alone wear it.

A shower had him feeling more human again and he did try to nap, almost collapsing onto his bed, but in spite of his tiredness, he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Beckett collapsing in the cemetery or worse, was back in the ambulance watching her bleed out. His vivid imagination was a curse right now as his mind easily supplied a nightmare reel of images, of all that might have been, all that could have happened, Beckett lying in a pool of her blood, Beckett on a surgical table as the heart monitor flat-lined.

He catapulted upright, hunching over his knees, as he tried to get his breathing under control. It hadn't happened. Beckett hadn't died. She was alive and out of surgery, out of danger. He focused his mind on the memory of her, her eyes open, telling Jim to go home and get some rest, telling him he should check on Alexis. Weak but still his bossy Beckett. He choked on a sob and then he was crying, ugly, wrenching sobs making his chest shake as he buried his face in his pillow and cried as he couldn't remember ever crying before.

The paroxysm of emotion was violent but brief, sobs turning into gasps, the tears slowing, and it left him feeling drained but also calmer. He lay back down covering his eyes with his arm and slowly felt his heart rate slowing. He didn't exactly sleep; it was a doze, fitful at best, as he jerked awake at intervals only to find himself drifting again. It wasn't entirely restful but it was better than nothing and the next thing Castle knew, he was startling fully awake at the sound of his mother's voice summoning him for dinner.

Fortunately, possibly thanks to Alexis's influence, his mother had kept things simple for dinner, limiting her culinary endeavors to a simple casserole, accompanied by a salad. Castle ate mechanically, mostly to satisfy his mother's and Alexis's concerned watchfulness, although he belatedly realized that this was the first meal he'd had today.

He left conversation to his mother and Alexis and for one of the few times in Alexis's life, did not pay much attention to what she said, satisfied just from occasional glances at her smiles and generally open expression that she was fine except for her concern for him and for Beckett. He was further reassured because Alexis informed him that she planned to go to school the next day as usual and retreated upstairs to her room after dinner in order to catch up on her school work. Returning to school and once again concerned with her studies, yes, his daughter was her usual self.

"How are you holding up, Richard?"

"Me?" he ungrammatically attempted to deflect his mother's attention. "Beckett's the one in the hospital."

As a distraction went, it was lame and failed. "Yes, and you've told us that she's stable and was awake and talking when you left. She has hospital staff working around the clock to take care of her. What about you?"

"Mother, really, I—"

"Don't you dare try to brush me off, Richard. Do you think I don't know that you're hurting too? It's a hard, hard thing to see someone you love in pain."

_Someone you love._ The words cut straight through his flimsy composure and he tried to smother a sob without much success, horrified at the betrayal of his feelings.

His mother caught his face between her hands, gently but firmly forcing him to meet her eyes. "I know you love her, Richard."

It was the gentleness, the understanding, in her tone that really did it and he was helpless to hold back the tears that sprang to his eyes. "I do," was all he could choke out and then his mother was pulling him into a hug and for the first time in years, decades really, Castle found himself giving way to tears in his mother's arms.

His tears didn't last long but even afterwards, he didn't move back, allowed himself the comfort of his mother's scented embrace for a little while longer. He was so used to providing the shoulder for someone, usually Alexis, to cry on. It was strange having someone else provide the shoulder for him to literally cry on. And it had been so long since he had relied on his mother for support or comfort but if ever he had needed it, it was now with his reserves of strength close to empty.

It was some little time before he finally, gently moved to extricate himself from his mother's embrace, straightening up.

"Now, how are you, really?"

"I'm worried about her. I just…" He released a shaky breath and his eyes fell, not able to meet his mother's eyes as he made an admission he almost never put into words, his voice very low. "I'm so scared."

His mother pressed his hand. "I'm sure you are. About what, specifically? Do you not think Katherine is healing the way she should?"

He hesitated, not even sure how to put his inchoate terrors into words. He might be a wordsmith but he was at a loss right now. "The doctors say she's recovering as well as can be expected, her vital signs holding steady…"

"But?"

"But they don't know Beckett, not really, and they're focused on the bare minimum of survival, not… anything more than that." He stopped, started again, unsteadily. "And of course that's the most important thing. She's alive and that's… everything, I know that, I do…"

He trailed off and after a long minute, his mother supplied, "But Katherine is a detective, a job where physical fitness is required."

He almost choked. "Yes." Dr. Ogawa had only confirmed that her life was out of danger but now that his terrible fear for her life had been allayed, others were taking its place. He wasn't foolish enough to think that full recovery from such a serious gunshot wound was guaranteed without any lasting side effects and that was what he feared. What if Beckett didn't fully recover, had some lasting disability that would affect or even prevent her from being a detective? It didn't matter to him, he couldn't imagine a world where he didn't love her, but what would it do to her? Being a detective was not just a job for Beckett; it was who she was. All he cared about was Beckett's happiness and so much of Beckett's well-being, her sense of self, was bound up in her job.

"Seeing her now, in pain and so… helpless… it's just… wrong…" He didn't know how else to put it. Beckett and 'helpless' were two words that simply did not belong together. All he knew was that Beckett must hate this, all of it, forced into helplessness. And he was tormented by the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to help.

His mother sighed. "Oh, Richard… I don't know what to tell you…" She paused and then after a minute, continued on and he felt a faint spark of admiration for his mother mingled in with affection because, of course, with his mother, even saying she didn't know what to tell him would not be the end. Martha Rodgers was irrepressible. "It's going to be a long road and a hard one for Katherine to recover. But Katherine Beckett is a fighter, you've always said so."

"She is. She doesn't give up."

"Exactly. It will be hard but this is Katherine Beckett. Would you bet against her managing to make a full recovery?"

"No, of course not," he answered with the first spurt of certainty he'd felt in what felt like ages. "I'd never bet against Beckett succeeding at anything she set her mind to."

"There you go. If anyone can come back fully from something like this, it's Katherine."

"You're right, Mother."

"But of course I am, Richard. Aren't I always?" his mother responded with something of a return to her usual manner.

He felt his lips curve a little and contented himself with a skeptical lift of his eyebrows. For once in his life, he didn't have the energy for a snappy comeback.

But more importantly, his mother had pulled him out of the bleakest of his worries. Of course, he was still worried about Beckett and no doubt would continue to be but he felt some measure of confidence seeping into him. Because whatever else, he did believe in Beckett and as his mother had said, if anyone could come back fully from this, it was Beckett.

His mother chose to ignore his silent skepticism and returned to the subject of Beckett. "Now, you're planning to return to the hospital, aren't you?"

"Yes. Jim doesn't want her to be alone."

His mother patted his hand. "Of course he doesn't. You tell Katherine we're all thinking of her and wishing her well."

"I will. You'll stay home with Alexis?"

His mother waved a dismissive hand. "Alexis and I will be just fine. You should focus on Katherine and being there for her and Jim."

"Yes, mother. Thank you for taking care of Alexis."

"Nonsense, Richard. What else are families for?"

He felt another surge of love for his mother, suddenly reminded again of the years when she had been the only family he'd had. He bent and kissed his mother's cheek. "Still. Thank you."

Castle went upstairs to check on his daughter and wish her a good night and then he once again left his home to return to the hospital and to Beckett.

He felt better, he realized, having talked—and broken down, even—to his mother. He might inwardly cringe at the memory of his tears but he admitted it had probably been necessary, a useful vent for his pent-up turmoil. Especially because he could not show the depths of his worry to either Jim or Beckett.

Beckett especially, because he knew her, knew she would detest sympathy or compassion or even a show of too much overt concern. She, who hated being weak and was severely allergic to showing vulnerability of any kind, would hate being treated like an invalid or a victim in any way. In his first time seeing her after what had happened, he thought he could be excused for not being able to hide any of what he felt, how worried he was for her, but going forward, he knew he had to treat her as he always had. Had to strive to sound light and joking, his usual self, with her, treat her as much as possible not like the patient in a hospital that she actually was but as if she was the strong, competent detective she had been.

His use of the past tense made him inwardly flinch and he sighed, running a hand down his face. The thought of how much pain she must be in, not just physically but emotionally, made him feel an almost physical ache, his heart twisting inside him. All he wanted, more than anything aside from Alexis's health and happiness, was for Beckett to be happy and to know she wasn't, was suffering, hurt him too.

He tried to shake off his dark thoughts. She was alive, that was the most important thing. She would recover. And she wasn't alone, would not be alone.

His mother was right. The road to recovery would be long and, he had no doubt, excruciatingly painful but once the doctors had healed her body, Beckett's spirit would carry her on and she would persevere through daunting months of physical therapy. He believed that, had to believe it, with every ounce of his being. And he would stand with her every step of the way, as she had phrased it in her eulogy for Captain Montgomery. He would stand with her always. For better or worse.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Castle and Beckett's personal relationship can never proceed that smoothly… Thank you to all readers and reviewers!


	21. Chapter 21

Author's Note: In which Castle and Beckett actually interact a little.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 21_

Over the next day or two, Kate realized that her dad and Castle appeared to have concocted a benevolent conspiracy not to leave her alone. It took longer than it should have but she blamed the sluggishness of her realization on the pain meds fogging her mind, keeping her thoughts lethargic, and the fact that she was still exhausted and slept much of the time so she didn't exactly witness their constant presence.

More disconcerting still was the insight that a rapport had been established between her dad and Castle, a rapport that might have had its origin in their shared worry over her but had taken on a life of its own. Her dad not only liked Castle, he trusted him in a way that her dad trusted few others. Her dad tended to be reticent, reserving his emotional intimacy to a very small circle—Kate knew herself and her dad well enough to recognize that she had come by her own emotional aloofness honestly—but in the span of just a couple days, her dad had clearly come to trust Castle.

Not that her dad had said anything of the sort or for that matter, commented on Castle at all to her but Kate knew her dad. She could recognize trust when she saw it, was depressingly certain of it.

How could she send Castle away now, when she was sure Castle's presence and willingness to spend hours in the hospital was the only thing preventing her dad from keeping an unending vigil with her? There was no one else she could think of who her dad would trust to the same extent. Lanie would have been willing and, as a doctor, was certainly qualified and her dad knew Lanie well enough but Lanie had her job to do and wasn't available to stay overnight in the hospital.

And Kate would not—could not—allow her dad to stay overnight in the hospital on her account, only getting brief snatches of uneasy sleep.

So she had to let Castle stay, at least for now, at least while she was in the ICU. She had, reluctantly, accepted that. It would allow her time to gather her resolve and her strength so she could argue with Castle and persuade him to leave. It would allow her time to start to wean herself from the disquieting ease of relying on him, of finding comfort in his presence, of seeking out the warmth of his eyes and his smile.

Why oh why did he have to be so tall and broad-shouldered so he looked so terribly, appealingly strong? She should never have allowed herself to be hugged by him because it would have been easier if she'd never known what it was like to be held by him, to feel surrounded and sheltered and cosseted by his solid chest and strong arms. She had never been so aware of his physical strength as she was now when she herself was so weak. And sometimes, when the pain was worse, making it hard to breathe through the burning ache of the hole in her chest and the slash on her side, she found herself thinking irrationally, stupidly, that it might be easier to breathe if she could only rest against him, be held by him.

Why couldn't he have truly been the jackass she'd initially believed he was? Why couldn't he have been the shallow, egotistical playboy he'd so convincingly acted like at first? If he had been, he wouldn't have come back into her life on hearing about Captain Montgomery. She certainly would not have wanted him to stay in her life, would not have come to… like him so much.

And she wouldn't be so tempted to take advantage of his kindness, his loyalty, his caring. Well, he wouldn't have even been there for her to take advantage of, would not have put himself in a position to be taken advantage of.

She didn't normally dwell on what-ifs or wish the realities of the world away; she'd learned when she was 19 that brutal realities could not be changed. But now, when she'd once again hit rock bottom, she had little control of her mind or her emotions anymore.

All she knew, all she was certain of, was that she could not take advantage of Castle, could not be a burden on his life. She would not be a leech, taking from him the strength and emotional stability she no longer had.

So she didn't allow herself to find comfort in his presence, did not allow herself to seek his warmth, his touch, or his caring. She tried not to look at him much and talked to him even less, took refuge behind her admitted exhaustion to keep her eyes closed and did not try to stay awake when he was around. It was easier to sleep so she did not need to try to resist him.

Some faint noises, the sound of subdued voices, tugged Kate out of sleep, familiar voices. Castle and her dad. She didn't like it and hadn't admitted it to herself in so many words but it was as if the auditory synapses of her brain were attuned to Castle's voice so his low tones set off special resonances that tugged at her, managed to pull her to consciousness. She was tired enough—and the pain meds left her groggy enough—that the usual background noise of the hospital usually didn't awaken her. The sound of her dad's voice didn't keep her awake either; she had drifted off more than once to the quiet sound of her dad talking to her, reminiscing about the past or talking hopefully about things they would do when she was well again.

Castle and her dad exchanged quiet greetings and the usual update on her condition, a brief but revealing conversation, before Castle left for the day and she heard the sound of rustles, a faint creak, as her dad settled down in the visitor chair. She waited a couple minutes until she was sure Castle was gone and then another few minutes for good measure before she blinked her eyes open.

Her dad immediately stood up, bending over her. "Katie-bug, you're awake. How did you sleep?"

She had a vague memory of a nightmare, of what she couldn't quite remember, but she remembered startling awake in panic, a silent scream tangled in her throat. And seeing Castle, dozing in the visitor chair, a book open on his lap as if he'd drifted off while reading. For once, since he was asleep and wouldn't notice, she'd allowed herself to find some comfort in his presence, enough at least to take the edge off her panic and calm her enough to fall back asleep, which she had, dreamlessly this time. But all she said in answer was, "I slept fine, thanks."

"And how are you feeling?" he asked, as he always did.

"Thirsty," she responded. She had adopted the expedient of brief answers about being thirsty or bored or tired to her dad's questions because she knew assuring him she was fine, which was her first instinct, would not work and she could not be too candid about her actual condition, any of the pain she felt.

Her dad rushed to hand her a plastic cup of water, visibly refraining from actually guiding the straw into her mouth, and watched as she drank the water with poorly-veiled worry tightening his expression.

Her heart clenched and she forced a small smile to her lips once she was finished drinking. "Better. Thanks, Dad."

"Of course." He placed the cup of water back on the table. "Anything else I can do?"

He was so transparently worried about her, so desperate to be doing something. She was suddenly reminded of the time she'd sprained her ankle when she'd been around 10 or 11 and the way her dad had physically carried her from her room to the living room couch for the first couple days, ignoring her protests that she could manage with the help of crutches. Her mom had been preparing for a big trial the next week and it was too late for any other attorneys to step in so her dad had done the bulk of caring for her.

Thinking about it now, Kate acknowledged that those couple days had been good for her and her dad. She could recognize that at the time, she had grown somewhat apart from him; the older she got, as she neared puberty and teenagerhood, she had shifted closer to her mom, perhaps understandably. And her younger self had started to rebel against her dad's protectiveness, his wish to keep treating her like a little girl. But spraining her ankle badly enough that she'd been made to stay off her feet for a couple days had forced her closer to her dad, not without some friction at first, but by the end, they had found common ground.

"Katie?"

She blinked. "I'm okay for now. I was just thinking about that time I sprained my ankle. Remember that?"

Her dad's expression eased into a smile. "How could I forget? You really hated being laid up like that." He sobered. "You always have."

She hurried to pull him back to the happier past. "I was such a brat. I don't know how you put up with me back then."

Her dad smiled, brightening again. "Oh, you weren't so bad, Katie. I rather enjoyed those couple days. We had some fun, didn't we?"

"Yeah, we did. I remember I schooled you at Scrabble."

"But I beat you at chess," her dad returned.

She pulled a deliberately childish face for his benefit. "I'm better at it now."

"I'm sure you are. You always pushed yourself so hard whenever you weren't good at something."

The reminiscences and the lightening of the atmosphere as a result ended abruptly as there was a little stir in the hallway and Kate looked up to see the familiar figures of the boys approaching. Oh. She wasn't sure if she stiffened or how her expression changed but her dad also turned and he definitely stiffened as he turned to face them.

"Javier. Kevin." Her dad's tone was cooler than it usually was with the boys and she knew he was concerned about how seeing them, the reminder of her work, would affect her.

She inwardly flinched. She hated this so much. Hated being helpless, hated the way everyone worried about her so much.

"Hey, guys." She made an automatic, instinctive move to sit up and then fell back with a gasp at the sharp stab of pain in her chest and along her side, a gasp that had her dad immediately turning with a frown. She forcibly smoothed out her grimace, mustering up as reassuring of an expression as she could, even as she held herself very still, waiting for the pain to subside. "'M okay," she lied. "Just pulled the stitches a little. Why don't you get a coffee or something, Dad? I'm fine," she said again for good measure.

"We won't stay long, just a couple minutes," Ryan hurriedly spoke up, his eyes bouncing between her and her dad.

"Okay, just a few minutes," her dad agreed reluctantly. "I'll be back soon, Katie."

Her dad left, leaving an uneasy silence that was broken by Esposito. "You look like crap."

"Dude," Ryan hissed. "We, uh, we're glad you're okay, Beckett," he added hurriedly but in a preternaturally gentle voice, as if he thought she would shatter into pieces at a harsh word.

She shut her eyes against the stupid, angry tears she felt pricking at the back of her eyes. Shut her eyes so she couldn't see the concern that was too close to pity in Ryan's blue gaze.

His blue eyes inescapably made her think of Castle, those darker blue eyes that haunted her dreams. She thought again of the worry she'd seen clouding Castle's eyes. This was why she had to make Castle leave, let him go. Because she couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to see the admiration, the caring, in his eyes turn to pity. To have Castle of all people look at her the way Ryan was now.

She opened her eyes to focus on Esposito. Espo, who would not coddle her. "What have we got on the—guy who did this?" she asked, trying to sound as close to her usual self as she could. Which didn't work. Even to her own ears, she sounded pathetically weak. And she found she couldn't say the word, shooter, flinching away from the word even in her mind. She felt again the burning pain in her chest and clamped her lips shut on a gasp, forcing herself to focus on the sound of Espo's voice.

"He's gone," Espo told her bluntly, his voice harsh with suppressed frustration. "A ghost. No witnesses on the scene, security cams around the entrance caught nothing useful. We're running down some thin leads but… we've got nothing."

"Nothing," she echoed hollowly. Nothing. The word seemed to repeat in her mind.

He was still out there. The man who'd shot her—she tried not to flinch—he was still out there. She wasn't safe.

"There's a uniform outside, 24/7," Ryan inserted. "We're gonna get this guy."

She didn't look at him, could not look at him. She knew they would try, would not give up. But it had been, what, almost 96 hours. She knew from experience that the first 72 hours of any case were the critical ones; after that, leads tended to dry up, memories got fuzzy, evidence could be lost, criminals had more time to escape. The odds weren't good.

"Yeah," she managed faintly. And then, in desperation, added, "I'm tired."

"And some of us still have to work," Espo added but this time his attempt at a jibe didn't sound natural.

She shut her eyes. "Thanks for stopping by," she managed. She could still be polite. Never mind that she and the boys were not much for polite niceties at usual times but this was not a usual time and she wasn't her usual self and even Esposito couldn't pretend she was.

"Enjoy the days off, Beckett," Espo returned dryly.

She heard some faint scuffling sounds as their steps retreated and guessed that Ryan had elbowed Espo and Espo had returned the favor with a sock to the arm or something. They, at least, were their usual selves.

While she… still had a target on her back. The man who'd done this was still out there and she had no reason to think he would give up.

Which meant that people close to her, by which she meant Castle, would not be safe. She had to send him away, sooner rather than later. Could not let him get caught in the crossfire, flinching at the word. All the more because she knew Castle well enough by now to know that if something like this happened again, he would try to protect her, shield her with his own body if necessary. It was just the sort of foolish, brave, reckless, heroic thing Castle would do. And that she couldn't allow, not only for his sake but because he had a daughter, a family, who needed him.

She'd known she had to send him away, these past days with Castle had been stolen time and she could not steal much more. Another day or two—she would need to ask when exactly she would be moved out of the ICU—and then Castle would have to leave. She would have to make him leave.

She shut her eyes against the prick of stupid, useless tears. No point in crying; it was what she had to do, for Castle.

* * *

Castle had settled into a strange routine of sorts over the past couple days. Jim spent most of the day at the hospital and then Castle arrived in the hospital every evening for the night shift, spending the nights in the hospital while Jim returned to his apartment to get what sleep he could. During the day, when he wasn't at the hospital, Castle attempted to write, with little success, and attempted to sleep, with even less success. He managed to take brief naps but often woke up in terror from a nightmare and would then be too antsy to return to sleep.

He'd always tried to use new experiences as a challenge to write about them and describe the experience accurately and a hospital vigil after having someone he loved be critically injured was certainly new to him but he couldn't write about it. Didn't want to write about it because it seemed almost like minimizing or belittling the horrors of it so no, he couldn't really write either. He'd attempted to work on the next Nikki Heat book but that only hurt with the constant reminders of all that Beckett could no longer do.

The single bright spot in the first few days was having dinner every day with his mother and daughter. Both his mother and Alexis stayed close to home, his mother only going out once or twice for brief errands and Alexis only leaving the loft to go to school. With how busy they both usually were, he thought it might have been almost the first time since his mother had first moved into the loft that all three of them had been home for dinner on three consecutive evenings.

Today, four days after his world had fallen apart, he manfully told Alexis it was fine for her to go out and spend time with the friends she had neglected over the past few days, provided she used the car service. His mother had, to her credit, offered to stay with him but he had assured her he was fine being left alone for the few hours before he would have to return to the hospital, all the more willingly because he wanted to think.

Beckett was improving slowly but steadily. The last he had heard from Jim, Dr. Ogawa had indicated that Beckett might be able to be released from the ICU as early as Tuesday but more probably, on Wednesday or Thursday. Beckett was recovering as smoothly as could be expected, thank god.

And yet, Castle was becoming aware of a small niggle of unease over the last day or so. A burgeoning tendril of doubt, of worry, that somehow, something was going wrong not with Beckett's health, thankfully, but with their fledgling relationship.

He tried to tell himself he was imagining it. After all, their relationship was so new, of course it was a little uncertain and under the circumstances, nothing could be normal anyway. There was no precedent for something like this so how could he know anything was going wrong?

All he really had to go on was instinct, some intuition that there was something troubling Beckett that she wasn't telling him—no, more than that, was deliberately concealing from him.

Was he imagining things, allowing his fears to convince him that his relationship with Beckett, even in its current state, more than friends but not exactly dating, was not going to proceed smoothly? Certainly, it wasn't as if anything concerning Beckett had ever really proceeded smoothly before.

It was nonsense, had to be nonsense, didn't it? Of course Beckett wasn't her usual self and they hadn't talked any more about their relationship because there were more immediate concerns. They didn't need to talk for him to be determined to stay with Beckett and help her however he could; that was already decided. And she hadn't demurred or tried to protest so she had accepted that he was staying with her.

And because he was staying in the hospital overnight, it was completely natural that Beckett was always asleep when he was there. For that matter, from what he heard from Jim, Beckett slept about half the day too. Sleep was healing so it was understandable, even good, that Beckett was sleeping so much. Maybe it was a sign that she made an effort to seem less exhausted than she actually was when Jim was around in order to assuage his worries but trusted Castle enough that she didn't feel the same need to try with him.

He tried but couldn't completely convince himself of that.

Finally, partly out of frustration and partly out of this nagging concern he could not shake, Castle made a decision and a plan. There was no rule that he had to wait until later tonight to return to the hospital and if he returned earlier, before it was completely dark, it should allow him to spend some time with Beckett when she was awake. That would help. Spending time with Beckett was the best cure he could think of for his concerns.

As always, Castle found his step lightening, his heart lifting, the moment he arrived at the hospital and entered the ICU, the knowledge that Beckett was close, just feet away, easing the constant tension he still felt when he was away from her.

Jim was seated in the visitor chair and, Castle noted with a leap of his heart, Beckett was awake, her eyes open, and she was even smiling faintly at whatever Jim was saying.

"—don't you think?"

Beckett noticed him first, some combination of emotions he couldn't identify flitting across her features before her expression became strangely blank. He felt a vague niggle of unease as her eyes flickered to him before returning to her dad. "Castle."

Jim turned and offered him a welcoming smile. "Rick, hi, you're earlier than usual. Is something wrong?"

Castle mustered up a smile. "Hi, Jim, Beckett. Everything's fine. I just thought that, rather than eating dinner alone, I'd come here and have dinner with you. Jim, I thought you wouldn't mind a home-cooked meal and Beckett, I know you're not allowed to have caffeine but I have some decaf coffee if you want or I also brought juice." He inwardly winced at the slip of mentioning the prohibition against caffeine; talking about Beckett's limitations was what he expressly tried to avoid.

Beckett grimaced at his offering. "A juice box? I'm not a child."

The juice box had been because Beckett couldn't sit up so she could only drink from straws, reclining as she was. He felt his heart twist at the reminder but Beckett's (cute) display of disgruntlement made it easier to answer lightly, almost teasingly. "Of course you're not but Alexis is, at least sort of, and I still keep a bunch of these stocked at home for her because they're portable and convenient for mornings when she's running late and has to have her breakfast on the go."

"A home-cooked meal sounds great, Rick. I appreciate it," Jim chimed in.

Castle set the picnic basket on the ground. "I'll just go ask a nurse for an extra chair and then we can eat."

He returned in a couple minutes with a chair and busied himself handing one tupperware to Jim along with a napkin and silverware before pulling out bottles of water and then his own portion of pasta in tupperware. "It's nothing fancy, just pasta, but it should still be warm. And I brought chocolate pudding for dessert for all of us." This time, he remembered not to add that he'd decided on pudding because Beckett was still not permitted to have solid foods.

"It's a feast, thank you, Rick. Did you make the pasta? I didn't know you cooked."

Castle answered Jim lightly, explaining about how he'd taught himself to cook after Alexis came along, as he kept an unobtrusive eye on Beckett, who was directing an inimical look at the decaf coffee before she apparently decided against the coffee and settled on the juice box instead. She reached for it almost surreptitiously and Castle made a show of focusing his attention on eating.

"So where are Martha and Alexis now, that they're not home for dinner?" Jim inquired.

"They've both been sticking close to home so I told Alexis she should go hang out with her friends. It's the weekend and I don't want her to get restless."

"Are they okay? Alexis wasn't too upset about all this?" Beckett spoke up.

Warmth blossomed in his chest and he directed a smile at Beckett, although she was looking down at the juice box. "She was a little shaken up but she's fine, glad you're getting better." So like Beckett to be concerned about Alexis even when she was the one who was laid up in a hospital bed.

So unlike Meredith, the thought darted into his mind. Meredith, who reacted to something like a broken nail as if it were a tragedy of Titanic proportions and then proceeded to milk every such occurrence for all it was worth. Not that Meredith had gotten sick or injured when they'd been together but he could easily imagine her reaction. He'd sometimes thought the only thing Meredith liked about being pregnant was being able to claim the spotlight because of it; she always did like being the center of attention.

Maybe that was one reason he felt so sure that a relationship with Beckett would work, because Beckett was essentially Meredith's antithesis.

"It was nice getting to meet Alexis the other day. She's a junior in high school, Katie said, right?"

Castle pushed thoughts of Meredith out of his mind with all the more ease because Alexis was, of course, one of his favorite subjects to talk about. "Yes, she is. She just took the AP exams a couple weeks ago and now her finals are coming up in another week. But I'm sure she'll do great; she always does. Oh, and she did manage to do an extra credit assignment for physics, Beckett," he added.

A small smile flickered across Beckett's lips. "Good. Tell Alexis I'm glad and wish her luck on her finals."

"I will. She'll appreciate it."

"Physics?" Jim inserted questioningly.

Castle gave Jim a brief summary of the drama about Alexis's physics test, focusing more on how Beckett had talked to Alexis than on Alexis's upset.

Jim threw his daughter a wry smile. "I seem to remember more than a few times when your mom had to give you similar advice. It's nice to see you passing it on."

Something quivered across Beckett's face before she controlled her expression. "Mom was good at giving advice." Beckett focused her gaze on the juice box, regarding it as if the juice had suddenly started to disagree with her.

Jim's expression softened and he reached out to pat his daughter's hand while Castle made a production out of putting away the now-empty tupperware of his pasta and taking out the containers of pudding.

"So, has Alexis started thinking about where she wants to go for college?" Jim asked with somewhat forced brightness.

It was Castle's turn to grimace as if something had disagreed with him. "She's decided to go to Stanford to be with her boyfriend but I'm still holding out hope I'll be able to persuade her to change her mind and stay closer to home."

Jim gave a little huff of amusement. "I wish you luck with that, Rick. If Alexis is anything at all like Katie when she was Alexis's age… well, from all I've heard of Alexis, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about."

Castle manufactured a look of exaggerated surprise. "You mean Beckett wasn't a meek, tractable teenager? I'm shocked, absolutely shocked."

Jim relaxed enough to snort. "Katie's never been meek for a day in her life. I could tell you stories about Katie as a teenager that would turn your hair gray."

"Dad." As warnings went, Beckett's voice still didn't have enough strength in it to make it very effective, even paired with a look.

"I could but I won't," Jim hastily added.

Castle's heart pinched at this display of Beckett as such a shadow of her old self but instead, he turned wide, pleading eyes to Beckett. "Oh please, Beckett, just one or two stories about you as a teenager? Think about the insight it could give me into Alexis."

Beckett narrowed her eyes at her dad, looking more like her old self than she had in days. "Not a word, Dad."

Jim mimed zipping his lips closed. "My lips are sealed."

Castle pasted on a pout. "You could take pity on me as the father of a teenage girl, help me deal with her teenage silliness."

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Nice try, Castle, but Alexis is more sensible and mature than you are."

Castle absurdly felt like crying. She'd rolled her eyes at him and was needling him just like old times, the first time in days. This was the Beckett he loved so much and she was back. But he managed to rally. "You could be nicer to someone who brought chocolate for you."

"Being mean to you is more fun." A smirk played around her lips and he really, really wanted to kiss it but then he heard Jim cough to cover up a laugh.

Castle pulled a ridiculously exaggerated sad face and Beckett's smirk gave way to a laugh that cut off on an involuntary little gasp of pain that guillotined Castle's own amusement.

Jim half-started up out of his chair with a frown. "Katie, are you—"

Beckett waved a quick hand, her expression already smoothed out. "I'm fine, Dad, it was just a twinge."

She was lying and one glance told Castle that Jim knew it too but refrained from calling her on it.

Castle hurried to hand Beckett one of the small containers of chocolate pudding along with a spoon, forcing himself not to flinch at the fact that she didn't even try to lift her arm to receive it but only turned her hand, palm up, on her lap. "As promised, chocolate pudding," he announced with artificial cheer. She couldn't laugh without pain, was avoiding lifting her arm again. Oh, Beckett…

"And for you, Jim." He handed Jim his dessert before Castle settled down to eat his own pudding.

Castle had to fight to hide his wince as he surreptitiously observed Beckett start to eat her pudding, her movements so slow and cautious it was clear she was still in some pain, faint lines of strain appearing around her lips. Everything in him was urging him to help her, spoon-feed her if necessary, but he knew perfectly well that Beckett might kill him if he did any such thing.

Jim was clearly tense with worry again but he too made an effort to hide it, keeping a desultory conversation going by asking questions about Alexis, although his questions were random and unconnected enough to betray Jim's level of distraction. Alexis's favorite subject in school was followed by an inquiry as to Alexis's favorite color and then whether Alexis played any sports.

Once they'd finished the pudding, Beckett visibly started to droop, her reserves of energy tapped out.

Jim noted it and made a show of yawning himself. "Well, dinner was delicious, Rick, thank you. But I'm beat so I think I'll head home for the night. Will you be all right, Katie?"

Beckett managed a smile for her dad. "I'm fine, Dad, just going to sleep myself."

"I'll see you in the morning then. Sleep well, Katie-bug." Jim bent and dropped a kiss on his daughter's forehead before turning to clap a hand on Castle's shoulder. "Thanks again for dinner, Rick. Have a good night."

"You too, Jim." Castle forced a smile that he kept on his face as Jim gathered his things and left. And by the time he turned back to Beckett when Jim was out of sight, it was to find that Beckett's eyes had fallen closed as if she was already on the verge of sleep.

He packed everything back up in the picnic basket quietly, sneaking glances at Beckett as he did so. The vague niggle of unease was back, stronger now, as his mind replayed the last hour. Beckett was still weak but even so, it had seemed as if she was avoiding looking at him. She had kept her focus almost entirely on her dad and while Castle accepted that Beckett did not want to worry Jim and made an effort to reassure him, Beckett's demeanor towards Castle had seemed almost… timid, except for the brief flash of her usual teasing. As if she was reluctant to meet his eyes. But this was Kate Beckett, who was never shy, so if she actually had been avoiding his eyes, it was for some other reason.

He focused on Beckett again, noting her even breaths, and was conscious of a sharp pang of doubt. Not of his feelings for her—he loved her, that was one thing he was absolutely certain of—but of her feelings for him. He wondered with a sinking feeling if he was really enough for her, if she would ever trust him enough to stop hiding.

How had she put it—that she had built a wall inside her after her mom died. An apt metaphor. And the wall was still there and all this, all that had happened, had not helped. Looking at Beckett now, watching her as she slept, he was uneasily conscious that he felt apart from her, divided by that wall of her making. He didn't know what to do, how to break down the wall. Another fitting metaphor because it implied the use of pressure or force—which was the problem.

She had just been shot, had almost died! He could not force it or otherwise pressure her to trust him fully, confide in him, even if Beckett were someone who responded well to pressure, which she wasn't.

All he could do was be here for her and hope that his continued presence would somehow help, like water wearing away a rock.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Fair warning and apologies in advance for not being able to post next week as I'll be travelling. And thank you all for reading and reviewing. I appreciate everyone who's still sticking around for this story and helping keep this fandom alive.


	22. Chapter 22

Author's Note: Apologies again for not posting last week but I'm back now and should be able to stick to my regular posting schedule going forward.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 22_

It was on Monday that everything changed. Again.

Castle arrived at the hospital that evening after having dinner at home with his family, making his now-familiar way to the ICU, exchanging a nod of greeting with the uniformed officer standing outside—it was Sanchez today—before approaching Beckett's room.

Beckett's eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep. Careful not to disturb her, Castle only tapped his fingers lightly against the door before he pushed it open.

Jim looked up with a faint smile. "Hi, Rick," he greeted in a voice just above a whisper, nodding towards the bed. "Katie's sleeping," he added unnecessarily.

"Hi, Jim. Everything go okay today?"

Jim glanced again at Beckett and then gestured to the door. "Walk me out, will you, Rick?"

Castle tensed, even as he nodded. "Of course." Clearly Jim wanted to talk to him, in private, which didn't seem to bode well. Had Beckett experienced a setback? Had she said something to her dad? Or had Jim just changed his mind about his constant presence?

He waited until they were outside the ICU before he asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no, everything's fine. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Jim assured him. "Katie's tired out because they just finished running a battery of tests on her to see how she's progressing."

Oh god… "And how is she?"

Now Jim shot him a smile and Castle felt a little of his tension flake away. "It's good news. Dr. Ogawa said Katie's recovery is proceeding on schedule and Katie will be transferred out of the ICU on Wednesday."

Castle released a long breath in relief. "Oh thank god."

Jim nodded, almost beaming with his own happiness. "And I was thinking you should be there when Katie's transferred. You've been here with her every day so it's only right that you should witness this next step in her recovery. The doctor couldn't be sure what time she'd be transferred but she said probably in the afternoon sometime."

"I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it," he promised.

"Good. I appreciate all you're doing for Katie, Rick, and I'm sure Katie does too."

"It's no trouble. I—Kate is important to me," Castle managed to say, not quite smoothly. It was the understatement of the century but he couldn't admit out loud that he loved her, not to her dad, and certainly not before he'd told Beckett herself.

Judging from Jim's expression, he knew what an understatement it was but he didn't comment. "Still, thank you. And tell Martha and Alexis that I appreciate their generosity in allowing you to spend so much of your time with Katie. This last week can't have been easy on them either," Jim went on.

"It's fine. My mother has always lived her own life and Alexis is old enough that she's mostly independent too."

By now, they had reached the front entrance of the hospital and Jim paused, clapping a brief hand on his arm. "I'll let you get back to Katie, Rick. I just wanted to give you the good news. Have a good night and I'll see you tomorrow morning, as usual."

"Good night, Jim."

Castle lifted a hand in farewell as Jim glanced back through the glass doors before stepping into one of the waiting taxis, lingering as the cab drove off before he turned to return to the ICU.

But he only made it to the elevator before he heard a woman's voice saying, "Richard Castle."

He stopped and turned to see a striking auburn-haired woman, who he judged to be around his age, walking towards him. She appeared to have just left the front desk. She was wearing a business suit and there was an air of briskness to her, confidence and determination in her stride, which had him guessing that this wasn't going to be some random fan encounter. No, everything about this woman said that she had a serious purpose in accosting him. All of which was enough that he did not automatically put on his charming publicity smile but only assumed a politely inquiring expression. "Yes?"

The woman held out her hand and he shook it automatically, noting that her grip was firm and her handshake brisk. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Castle. I'm Special Agent Jordan Shaw."

He blinked. Wait, he knew that name. "Jordan Shaw? From the FBI? The same Jordan Shaw that broke the Hudson Valley strangler case back in 1991?"

The woman—Agent Shaw—gave him an assessing look. "I see my reputation precedes me, Mr. Castle."

His mind had moved on. "You worked with Beckett last year on the Nikki Heat serial killer case, didn't you? I assume you're here because of Beckett?"

"As are you, Mr. Castle. A hospital visit to your former muse, I take it."

He inwardly winced. "Beckett's a friend," he answered carefully. "I, um, didn't realize you and Beckett had become friends too."

Agent Shaw tilted her head to one side. "Friends, yes, I suppose you could say so but actually, I am here on official business." Her tone changed, softened. "How is Detective Beckett doing?"

Official business. He didn't like the sound of that. And was Beckett really strong enough to handle whatever business this was? Not that he had any say in it. It would be up to Beckett and he didn't need to think for a second before knowing she would push herself to be strong enough for whatever this was. An official visit from the FBI, no, he really didn't like the sound of it. "She's stable, recovering, but she's still in intensive care."

"I'm glad she's recovering," Agent Shaw responded before going on with a slight change in tone, "And my condolences over the loss of Captain Montgomery. I know he was a friend of yours too."

The mention of Montgomery had Castle stiffening. "Yes, he was." Montgomery—was she being polite or did her visit have to do with Montgomery's death?

Oh god. If it was about Montgomery's death—how much did she know, how much did the FBI know, about Montgomery's past? Could this possibly be about Beckett's mom's case? Oh god.

Agent Shaw studied him for a moment. "You've guessed what this is about, haven't you?"

"I—excuse me?"

"You know the truth about Roy Montgomery and what got him killed, don't you." It wasn't a question.

He almost reared back, letting out a small hiss of shock. "You—how do you—what—"

Agent Shaw glanced around. "Is there somewhere we can talk privately?"

Oh god. He really, really did not like where this seemed to be going. She knew the truth about Montgomery's death, which meant the truth about Montgomery's past, everything. What he, Beckett, and the boys had tried so hard to cover up.

Castle felt a cold knot of apprehension take up residence in his chest but he accepted that there was no avoiding this. He set his jaw. Whatever came, he and Beckett would face it together. And as long as that was true, surely, surely they could get through this. "Yes, follow me."

A quick moment's thought had him leading Agent Shaw to the ICU waiting room, closing the door firmly behind them, the same room where he and Jim and everyone had spent so many agonizing hours after Montgomery's funeral. He cordially hated the room for the memories but it was the best option. It was after the ICU's visitor hours so the room was empty and they were unlikely to be disturbed. Plus, the expansive windows would provide plenty of warning before anyone could enter.

He dropped heavily into one of the chairs before fixing Agent Shaw with what even he had to admit was a defiant look. He had no reason to dislike Agent Shaw; from all he knew of her, he was in fact inclined to approve of her and he certainly respected her already but whatever she was here to say would be hard, excruciating even, for Beckett, especially in her current condition, and that alone ensured he could not warm to the woman right now. "What do you know? Why are you here?"

To her credit, Jordan Shaw didn't so much as blink at his hard tone, let alone bristle. She met his eyes directly. "I know you're concerned about Detective Beckett, Mr. Castle, and I don't blame you. I'm sorry to have to disturb her at such a time but you have to understand that I have a job to do and I'm here because Roy Montgomery wanted me to be."

He blinked, some of his defenses lowering. "Captain Montgomery wanted you to be here?" he repeated, confused now.

"Yes. As you already know, I worked with Detective Beckett on the serial killer case last year. It was also how I got to know Captain Montgomery." Her businesslike expression faltered for a moment and for just a second, he glimpsed the woman rather than the FBI agent and it occurred to him that Jordan Shaw had a softer side. Like Beckett, he thought, and the thought made him thaw yet further. "I do know about Montgomery's past, Mr. Castle, but I also got to know the man last year so I know he was a good man, a good cop, no matter what his past. My purpose here is not to taint his memory."

He nodded, allowing himself to sit back, his posture easing fractionally. "All right. What is your purpose, if I may ask?"

"Last year, when Detective Beckett and I worked together, what you may not know is that Detective Beckett saved my life," she responded in something of a non sequitur.

He managed a faint smile at that. "She's good at that."

A small smile flashed across Agent Shaw's lips, giving him just a glimpse of the charm that was usually subsumed under her businesslike demeanor. "Yes, she is." She paused, eyeing him for a moment before she added abruptly, "There's more truth to your portrayal of the relationship between Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook than Beckett admitted, isn't there?"

He jerked upright. "I don't know what you mean," he evaded.

"Mm," Agent Shaw made a noncommittal noise before she resumed her businesslike air. "Well, that's not the issue. You asked why I'm here and the short answer is that I'm here to help with this case."

"What case?" he asked cautiously. The only active case he knew of, the one the boys were spending most of their time with, was the hunt for the shooter and that had to be tied to Montgomery's death, his past. Something clenched inside him as he followed the thought to its end—this had to be related to Johanna Beckett's murder. Oh god.

"The case Beckett was looking into that led to Captain Montgomery's death," she answered obliquely but it was enough.

"You know who's behind all this? Who had Beckett's—" he cut off his own question.

But Agent Shaw clearly knew what he meant and she met his eyes. "I think the rest of this conversation requires Detective Beckett's participation."

His stomach dropped. "Yes," he agreed heavily. And then remembered something. "But she's in the ICU and the only visitors she's allowed are family."

He knew Esposito and Ryan had stopped by briefly Saturday morning but, well, they were family, as far as Beckett was concerned, and in any event, they had used the excuse of official NYPD business to get permission.

Agent Shaw flashed a smile, nudging her blazer aside to tap her FBI badge. "I have an all-access pass. I think they'll let me in."

So like Beckett. The confident smile, the words, the gesture, reminded him so sharply of Beckett, the way she too used her badge to swan past reluctant gate-keepers. He felt a stab of liking, the tug of burgeoning friendship―he could like Agent Shaw—although he recognized that it wasn't about Agent Shaw herself but was almost entirely a reflection of her resemblance to Beckett.

He returned the smile automatically. "You are the FBI equivalent of Beckett," he commented as he stood up.

That made her laugh. "Coming from you, Mr. Castle, that's quite a compliment. Thank you."

Something in the way she said that, in the glance she shot him, told him that Agent Shaw had guessed exactly how he felt about Beckett. Which, he supposed, he shouldn't find surprising since she had to be able to read people well and in any event, he knew he wasn't exactly subtle. Oh well, he was in love with Beckett and he wasn't ashamed of it.

As she'd predicted, so it proved. Officer Sanchez and the ICU nurses easily acquiesced to Agent Shaw's request for access, citing official FBI business. But then once they were past that gauntlet, Castle found himself balking as Beckett's door came into view.

"Wait. Beckett's, um, she was asleep last I checked. She won't be expecting you," he said rapidly. "I don't want to—do you mind waiting so I can wake her up and just give her a head's up?"

He knew he really had little, if any, standing to ask such a thing but he was holding out hope that the softer side of Agent Shaw he'd just glimpsed would persuade her that maybe Beckett should not be subjected to such a bolt from the blue. He could not protect Beckett from the impact of whatever was coming—and it wasn't going to be easy for her—but he could, at the very least, try to smooth the way a little.

Agent Shaw's expression softened again and then she nodded. "Good thinking. I'll wait out here."

"Thank you," he said fervently before he ventured back into Beckett's room.

He paused, hesitating for just a second as he drank in the sight of Beckett, looking so peaceful, hating the knowledge that he had to wake her up to shatter her peace. He wished he could wake her with a kiss but this wasn't the time for that so he touched a gentle hand to her shoulder instead. "Beckett. Beckett, wake up."

Her eyelids fluttered and she focused on him, a faint frown appearing. "Castle?"

"Sorry to wake you but, um, something's happened."

She blinked, shifting a little. "My dad?"

"He's fine, he went home for the night," Castle hurriedly assured her. "It's just that someone's here to see you."

"Someone? Who—"

He let out a breath. "Special Agent Jordan Shaw."

Shock momentarily blanked her expression. "Jordan Shaw. Why?"

"She said it's something to do with Montgomery," he answered as mildly and obliquely as he could but of course, there was no way Beckett didn't immediately grasp what he wasn't saying.

She paled and then she was straightening, trying to sit up, before giving up with a grimace. "Castle, help me up."

It was almost close to her usual command and he reacted as he would have to one of her commands. She couldn't sit up fully but he pressed the button to slowly, carefully, shift the position of her bed so she was reclining, just enough so she was facing forward again. She let out a small breath, faint lines of strain appearing around her lips, that betrayed that the change in position was causing some pain but Beckett being Beckett, she didn't let that stop her. "Tell her to come in."

He went to the door and gestured to Agent Shaw, who immediately strode towards him, and he firmly closed the door once she was inside and then stationed himself just beside the door and half-blocking the window, where he could see if anyone was about to approach.

"Agent Shaw," Beckett greeted neutrally.

Agent Shaw's demeanor softened. "Detective Beckett, how are you feeling?"

"Tired, sore, but better every day."

"Glad to hear it. I'm sorry to have to disturb you at this time but things have been set in motion and you're one of the principal players who needs to be briefed." Agent Shaw paused, darting a quick glance at him.

"If this is about Captain Montgomery, Castle knows all about it," Beckett inserted.

Something inside Castle eased a little. At least Beckett still trusted him where Montgomery's past was concerned. Whatever Agent Shaw was about to tell them, Beckett wasn't trying to hide it from him.

The corner of Agent Shaw's lips twitched and she raised her brows slightly at Beckett but all she said was, "I see." She paused and when she went on, she was once more all business, federal Agent Jordan Shaw. "As I mentioned to Mr. Castle, I'm here because of Captain Montgomery. That last day before he died, he mailed a package containing a file of information he'd compiled and sent it to me at the FBI office here in New York." For a moment, regret flickered across Agent Shaw's expression. "Unfortunately, at the time, I was in D.C. at FBI Headquarters for mandatory training so I didn't receive it until a few days ago."

Castle stiffened and saw Beckett pale even more at what Agent Shaw was implying, that it was possible, if Agent Shaw had received the package sooner, what had happened at the funeral… might have been prevented somehow.

"This file," Beckett's voice came out as a rasp and she had to pause and swallow and he hurried forward to hand her the cup of water kept by her bedside and she took a few sips through the straw before handing the cup back. "What was in the file?" she went on, her voice a little hollow, but more like her usual self.

"A paper trail of sorts, information about… a certain person," Agent Shaw finished cautiously.

Beckett let out a hissing breath. "The Dragon? You know who it is?"

"Dragon?" he blurted out before he could help it.

Beckett's eyes momentarily flashed to him before she focused again on Agent Shaw. "It was what McAllister called the man behind all this, the man who hired Lockwood." The man who'd killed her mother.

"Before I go on, the information in this file is just the start, whatever Montgomery was able to gather. I've had to piece things together so to make sure I have the story straight…" Agent Shaw began. "This all started almost 20 years ago with Montgomery and two other cops, Raglan and McAllister—"

Beckett sucked in a sharp breath, making Agent Shaw break off.

"Look, Detective Beckett, before we go on, I want you to know the FBI isn't in the business of investigating or prosecuting the dead. I have no intention of tarnishing Montgomery's name. We'll be treating him as a confidential informant, as it were, because we're going off of the information he sent us."

Castle relaxed marginally and he saw Beckett nod slowly. "Okay."

"Montgomery, Raglan, and McAllister ran an illegal scheme in the course of which Bob Armen was killed and then Joe Pulgatti was wrongfully convicted of the murder of Bob Armen. And someone found out, blackmailed them, used the money he got from blackmail, and has been covering his tracks ever since." She had, Castle noticed, carefully skirted over the murder of Johanna Beckett and at the moment, he could only be grateful for her tact because Beckett was paper-white as it was.

"Who is it?" Beckett asked, her voice very low and strained.

Castle couldn't help it. He stepped forward again, rested a careful hand on the edge of the bed, barely brushing against Beckett's hand. He wasn't sure if he dared anything further, didn't know what Beckett would allow with Agent Shaw right there. And then felt a spurt of warmth and hope in his chest when Beckett shifted her hand slightly, just enough to curl two fingers around two of his in a subtle clasp of hands. She trusted him enough to hold his hand in this extremity. He tightened his fingers around hers.

Agent Shaw noticed but didn't react, only met his eyes and then Beckett's in turn. "His name is William Bracken."

"The Senator?" Castle interjected as Beckett's fingers tightened convulsively and he heard her gasp.

Agent Shaw kept her eyes on Beckett even as she nodded. "He was the District Attorney in Manhattan when all this started so he had plenty of connections with the NYPD. He used the money to finance his election as the Attorney General and then used that as a stepping-stone—"

"He won his Senate seat in 2004," Castle inserted slowly, his mind quickly running back over what little he knew of William Bracken. He'd been the state Attorney General in 1999 and must have already been planning out his next step so having the Bob Armen murder case re-opened with the attendant publicity would have been the last thing he wanted.

"Right," Agent Shaw agreed.

"William Bracken," Beckett echoed hollowly. "A Senator…" Her breathing was becoming shallow and he glanced at her in some concern that spiked into worry as he saw the look on her face, her wide eyes, her too-rapid breathing. Shit.

He reacted on instinct. He bent, using his own body as a barrier between Beckett and Agent Shaw, shielding Beckett from Agent Shaw's gaze. "Give us a minute!" he barked over his shoulder before belatedly adding with forced calm, "Please."

He was hardly aware of Agent Shaw standing and leaving the room before he focused on Beckett, her breathing terrifyingly jagged and her heart monitor registering uneven spikes. He lifted a hand to Beckett's cheek, gently persuading her to meet his eyes, although he wasn't sure she actually saw him. "Ssh, Beckett, it's okay. I've got you. You're okay," he crooned, not even aware of what he was saying. "Just breathe, okay? Breathe, Beckett, you don't have to fight. You're going to be okay…" He went on babbling soothing nothings for he didn't know how long until slowly, agonizingly slowly, her breathing slowed, became even, her heart monitor once more regular.

She was pale, looked white and drawn, utterly spent, as she lay on the bed. His heart twisted sharply. He'd known she'd lost weight but it had never been more starkly apparent as it was now, her cheekbones standing out too prominently in her almost gaunt face. Greatly daring—and because he couldn't help it—he dropped a fleeting kiss on her cheekbone. She was still beautiful and at that moment, he felt as if he'd never loved her more.

Her eyelids fluttered and he straightened up slowly. "Beckett, should I try to send Agent Shaw away, tell her to come back later?"

That made her straighten her head a little, her gaze focusing. "No, no," she got out. "I need to know. I can manage."

He should have expected that. He decided, not for the first time, that there might be nothing more amazing in the world than watching Kate Beckett steel herself to face whatever she had to face, to see the determination and strength of will ripple through her. She might be pale and utterly exhausted but she would do what she felt she needed to do. Invictus, he thought, that was what she was. _Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods there be, for _her_ unconquerable soul._ An unconquerable soul, that was what Kate Beckett was, her head bloody, but unbowed. "Okay."

He stepped to the door and once again gestured to Agent Shaw before returning to the bedside and felt a little flare of warmth coil around his heart because Beckett once again curled her fingers around his, where it was mostly hidden by the blanket.

His respect for Agent Shaw increased by leaps and bounds because Agent Shaw did not express sympathy or concern for Beckett. Agent Shaw clearly was a good judge of character, knew Beckett well enough to know she wouldn't appreciate it. All Agent Shaw did was continue on, briskly, almost as if they had not been interrupted at all. "Montgomery was keeping tabs on Bracken, collected enough damaging information to force a sort of stalemate but with Montgomery gone, the stalemate is over. And that's where I come in."

Castle felt a chill inside. Montgomery must have basically been blackmailing his blackmailer—mutual assured destruction, as the phrase went. But before Montgomery had died, made his voluntary sacrifice and atonement in the hangar, he had sent the file to Agent Shaw to ensure that Beckett would be safe. He glanced at Beckett, his heart twisting. Montgomery's plan hadn't worked. But she was still alive. And Jordan Shaw was on the case.

"When will you arrest Bracken?" Beckett asked flatly.

"Not yet. What Montgomery sent us is a start but—"

"A start?!" Castle interrupted, not able to hold it in. "But you know what he did, what he's responsible for. What more do you need?"

"More," Agent Shaw answered coolly. "Look, the solid information we have on him is for blackmail and extortion, violation of campaign finance laws, and possible racketeering charges, and if we go after him now, sure, we'd get a conviction but his sentence wouldn't be long. We have bread crumbs, hinting at other crimes including murder, but it's not a solid case yet. We know there's more out there so we're going to take the time to get this right so we have an air-tight case. He's a senator; he still has powerful friends, and I don't think I need to tell you what's at stake."

That shut him up and Beckett nodded, her lips set. Agent Shaw was right. He might be impatient but when this ended, it had to be with nothing less than a rock-solid conviction for the murder of Johanna Beckett. Not only for Beckett herself and for Jim but because from what he'd learned about her, Johanna Beckett deserved nothing less than justice.

"But we know all you've done to make this possible, Beckett, so that's why I'm here to explain all this. It's what Captain Montgomery intended."

"Detectives Esposito and Ryan, my partners, did just as much. Have you talked to them?" Beckett asked. That was like her too, to give credit where it was due.

"I'm talking to you first."

Beckett grimaced. "And I'm stuck here. Will you let Esposito and Ryan help? They'll want to."

It was, Castle knew, a request made somewhat less for the boys' sake, although they would, of course, be glad to help, than for Beckett herself. The boys would be her proxy, as it were, in this investigation, the only way she could try to keep some measure of control over what went on. Beckett might respect Agent Shaw but Beckett trusted the boys more.

Agent Shaw nodded. "The help will be appreciated, especially because I'm going to limit the people involved on the FBI's end to those I know I can trust. This whole thing started with corrupt law enforcement and I won't have this fall apart because of corrupt law enforcement." Her expression softened. "Focus on your recovery, Beckett. You and your team have done plenty to get the investigation this far and we're going to get this guy, close this case for good."

Agent Shaw glanced at Castle with a faint, engaging smile. "Now, am I forgiven for barging into the hospital?"

He mustered up a smile. "Definitely."

Agent Shaw stood up. "Just so you know, the FBI will be keeping an eye on you, your family, Montgomery's family, make sure nothing else happens while we're investigating."

Castle relaxed a little. The FBI was arranging for security. He wouldn't call off his private security but it did make him feel better to know they'd have backup.

Beckett held out her hand for Agent Shaw to shake. "Thank you," she said simply.

"Take care of yourself, Beckett. I'll be in touch." Agent Shaw turned to face him and he shook her hand. "Mr. Castle, I'm glad to have met you."

"Likewise, Agent Shaw."

Agent Shaw released his hand and turned to the door. "I can see myself out. You can stay here with Detective Beckett, as I'm sure you'd prefer, Mr. Castle." She glanced back to meet Beckett's eyes. "Feel better, Kate," she added softly.

And then she was gone, slipping out the door and leaving him once more alone with Beckett.

Beckett immediately closed her eyes but the way her hand was fisted around the blanket was evidence enough that it wasn't to sleep but only an attempt to calm herself.

He sank down onto the visitor chair, suddenly feeling exhausted, as if he'd walked miles, his thoughts whirling. William Bracken. They knew the name of the man who'd killed Beckett's mom. After all these years, they had a name. An end was in sight.

Thanks to Captain Montgomery. Another way in which he was making reparations for the mistakes he'd made. Castle felt a renewed surge of grief for Roy, wishing desperately, not for the first time, that he'd had the opportunity to talk to Roy about some of this, tell Roy that he understood, that he would stay with Beckett. Instead, the last time he'd talked to Roy had been some meaningless jibes over the poker game. Only that and nothing more.

He looked up at Beckett to see that she'd opened her eyes, was uncharacteristically fidgeting by pleating a fold in her blanket, smoothing it out, and then folding it again, a repetitive, mindless motion.

He wanted to ask if she was okay, how she was feeling about all this, but he knew Beckett too well to think she'd appreciate the expression of worry. So instead, he commented inanely, "So that was Agent Jordan Shaw. She's impressive."

"What do you know about her?"

"I know she cracked the Hudson Valley strangler case when she was only 25. She'd only been with the FBI a couple years at the time, a rookie, but somehow she profiled what kind of car the killer drove and that was how they got him. She's like the federal you."

"Research?"

He shrugged. "Occupational hazard, poring over real-life crimes."

"The Captain trusted her too."

"Beckett…" he began, not even sure what he was going to say now that she'd opened the door to talking about all Agent Shaw had told them.

Beckett sighed and fumbled to press the button to lower her bed again. "I'm really tired. Can we talk about this later?" she asked, her words slurring a little.

"Yes, of course," he blurted out hurriedly, inwardly kicking himself. She was still pale and even before Agent Shaw had shown up, she'd been tired. This was no time to be pushing her to talk. "Sleep."

"Night," she mumbled.

Castle settled back in his chair, resuming his nightly vigil over Beckett's sleep.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: I didn't originally intend to deviate from canon so much but the more I thought about it, the less I liked what Montgomery did with the file because it's so obviously a temporary measure as Bracken's hardly someone who's safe to blackmail. And in this story, Montgomery couldn't be sure Castle would be around to try to keep Beckett from looking further into the case so he would need to come up with another solution.

The lines Castle thinks about Beckett's unconquerable soul are from the poem "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley.

Thank you as always to everyone who's still sticking with this story.


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: This chapter was hard to write and I'm not sure how well it's turned out but I will leave that to you to decide. Brace yourselves for a roller-coaster of a chapter.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 23_

Later turned out to be the following evening.

After spending some time during the day holed up in his office to do some research into William Bracken, not an investigation but just to see what was publicly available knowledge about him, learning that ironically, he'd been elected on a strong law-and-order platform, touting his experience as the DA. Castle skimmed through the summaries of his life, portrayed as a rags to riches success story, reflecting grimly that such a man had a lot to lose, especially a man of apparently boundless ambition. Which made him dangerous. He hoped Agent Shaw was as good as her reputation suggested.

After dinner with his mother and Alexis, as usual, Castle returned to see Beckett. He exchanged a couple minutes of idle chat with Jim, which was enough to confirm that Beckett had not said a word about Agent Shaw's revelations. Jim was clearly focused only on his daughter and her recovery.

Castle's certainty of Jim's ignorance was further cemented because Beckett took advantage of Jim's momentary distraction gathering up his umbrella as the day was drizzly, to shoot Castle a look that enjoined discretion. Which he found mildly irritating because, really, did she think he was such a blabbermouth—and an idiot—to talk about this with Jim without Beckett's express permission? She'd trusted his discretion when it came to Montgomery's past but now, she seemed to be doubting it again.

Jim took his leave and Castle waited a few minutes to be sure Jim was well on his way. Beckett busied herself fussing with the blanket in a way that was uncharacteristic of her.

"I talked to the boys earlier," Castle ventured when it became clear Beckett wasn't going to start. Ryan had actually called him, although in characteristic fashion, the call had been on speaker with both Espo and Ryan speaking in strophe and antistrophe.

Her hands stilled but she didn't look up at him. "Oh?"

The little niggle of unease returned but he went on, trying to ignore it. He hadn't thought it would be that easy, had he? Beckett didn't confide easily. He wondered if she ever would. "Yeah. Agent Shaw did talk to them. They're up to speed and on board. Told me to tell you." As if there had ever been any doubt.

Beckett nodded. "Message received."

The flat terseness of her reply, as if he was little more than a messenger, had him frowning, the careful restraint he'd been exercising around her starting to slip. After yesterday, after everything they'd shared over the last couple weeks, he'd thought… "Beckett, you said we'd talk about this later and now it is later. So let's talk."

"I don't want to talk about this."

"You don't want to talk about this now, that's fine. I can wait."

"I don't want to talk about this," she repeated with even more finality, turning her face away as if her words had been ambiguous.

"You don't want to talk about this at all? Beckett, that's—" he bit off the rest of the sentence before he could say it was ridiculous or worse. She had suffered what he guessed was a panic attack just from learning Bracken's name; she had to be reeling from the impact of Agent Shaw's revelations, to have finally learned who was responsible for her mother's murder.

"Why do we have to talk about this?" she asked, a note of frustration entering her tone.

"Because we should talk about things. Beckett, this is what Montgomery died for." He hesitated and then forged bravely—or recklessly—on. "This is your mom's case!"

"Exactly!" She abruptly flared into animation, turning to face him. "This is my mom's case! _My _mom's case, _my_ life, not fodder for inspiration for another book! My life is not your personal jungle gym! This has nothing to do with you!"

He flinched. He knew he'd intruded on her mom's case before but he'd apologized and she'd said she'd forgiven him. And did she really think he thought so little of her or her mom's case, that he would reduce it to a plaything, an adventure story? "I know it's your mom's case and believe me, I will never again do anything to interfere with it without your permission but after Montgomery, after everything about his past, I am involved in this now."

"No, you're not. You've done enough," she stated flatly.

Castle's temper stirred, the niggle of unease now flaring into outright fear and burgeoning hurt. "How can you even say that? You know I know how important this is to you! How important this is to both of us!"

"There is no us."

He gaped, too thrown by this sudden switch to talking about them, their fledgling relationship, to even feel hurt. At least, not yet. "What? You said you wanted this, to try for a real relationship. You said you wanted…" _Me._ He left the too-vulnerable sounding word unsaid and finished, "to be an 'us.'"

Beckett shut her eyes and turned away from him again. "I was wrong."

"Wrong?" he repeated, as confusedly as if she'd been speaking Swahili. For all he understood, she might as well have been.

"Yes! Or I lied, whatever! I thought I could do this but I can't! It's too much! It's—you're suffocating me! And I can't do this anymore!"

Castle stood on legs that felt strangely shaky, registering every word like the beginnings of the wounds they were, not quite conscious of pain yet but aware that they would be agonizing soon enough. "I'm suffocating you? All I've been doing, all I've tried to do, is be here for you." He had to force the words out.

"It's too much, everything, your worry, your sympathy, your pity. I can't take it!"

His filters dissolved in a corrosive mix of heartbreak and anger. "My—you think I'm here because I pity you?! Beckett, I'm in love with you, damn it!"

His words detonated like a bomb into the silence and he barely registered her sharp gasp as if she'd been punched, preoccupied by his own searing pain.

"I don't want you here. I don't want you with me anymore. Goodbye, Castle." Her voice was flat, ice to his fire.

_She didn't want him._ It was over, done.

He had told her he loved her—oh god, he had told her he loved her—and she didn't care, had sent him away. And he couldn't force her to care.

Castle turned and stumbled blindly out of the room, his shoulder knocking hard against the door jamb but he didn't notice. He might as well have been blind and deaf for all the awareness he had of his surroundings, the people who had to swerve around his uneven path. He needed to get away, away from her. For the first time since he'd met her, he couldn't bear to be near her.

He was yanked back to an awareness of time and place by the sharp sound of a baby crying. Even after so many years, some instinct from the time when he had always kept his ears pricked for the sound of Alexis crying remained. It pulled him back to an awareness of the rending pain in his chest. But having stopped moving, he couldn't get his unsteady legs to function properly again.

He managed to stagger a couple steps to collapse onto a chair, realizing belatedly that he was in the front lobby of the hospital, although he had no idea how he'd made it there.

Just feet away from where he and Jim had stood yesterday when Jim thanked him for being there for Beckett. Jim. Oh god, Jim.

Something inside him tightened, clenched, as if to ward off a blow at the thought of Jim Beckett, of the trust Jim had placed in him. Made worse because Castle honestly liked and respected Jim for his own sake and not only because he was Beckett's dad.

He would be breaking his promise to Jim. breaking his promises to Jim, to Captain Montgomery, to himself. To Beckett. He flinched.

He'd promised Jim that he wouldn't leave her alone in the hospital.

She was still in the hospital, in the ICU. He shut his eyes, the memory of the shooting, of seeing her fall to the ground, seeing her so still and covered with her own blood in the ambulance, flashing through his mind.

No. He couldn't break his promise. Not now. Not without talking to Jim first. There were more important things than his own broken heart.

Slowly, very slowly, as if he had to direct every individual muscle to cooperate, he forced himself to his feet and turned to return the way he had come. Not to her room—he could not bring himself to do that—but to the ICU itself. That much he could do.

Strangely, with every step he took—or maybe it was simply through trying to push past the pain in his chest—he found another emotion coming to his aid. Anger.

She had lied. She had let him become almost comfortable with the idea of their future relationship and all the while, she'd been hiding her true thoughts, her true feelings. In these past days, had she ever once told him he was hovering too much or not giving her enough space, anything to indicate she felt as if he was suffocating her? No, she hadn't. She'd stayed silent, not given him even a chance to explain or anything. She'd let him spend this entire last week in the hospital only to abruptly change her mind and all but shove him out.

He'd never thought Beckett could be so unfeeling but apparently he'd been wrong about that.

No, that didn't sound right.

He hadn't thought, hadn't realized—but in storming out of her room, he'd left the door wide open and no one had closed it yet. So although he hadn't planned or even wanted to see her again, certainly not now, he couldn't avoid it. He'd barely made it a few steps into the ICU when his eyes automatically found her door and saw her.

Even now, that first sight of her lying so still in a hospital bed struck him like a blow. He wasn't inured to it, let alone immune to it. He managed a couple more shaky steps and then froze entirely.

He could see her face now. She was _crying_. Not sobbing, just crying silently, tears streaming down her face in a way that somehow invoked more despair than even wild sobs would have conveyed. She looked pale and strained. Bereft, as if she'd just lost her best friend.

His crushed heart seemed to rebound back to painful life. He really did love her. This was what it meant to care more about someone else than he did himself. That even now, even after she'd broken his heart, he could not see this woman cry and remain unmoved. He could not see her cry and not want to comfort her.

His anger died. He stared, feeling as jolted as if someone had just dumped a bucketful of ice water over his head.

Why was she crying? He'd never seen, never imagined, Beckett crying like this. Never imagined her looking so bleak. Except, perhaps, when her mom had died… Oh god...

He walked back into her room and tucked a tissue onto the bed by her hand. He wasn't about to dry her tears himself but he couldn't leave her to cry alone either.

She gave a little gasp of surprise, her eyes flying open, but he didn't look at her just yet, turned away to close her door again. They needed to talk.

He turned back to see that she'd hastily tried to wipe away her tears and she was still not looking at him. She hadn't met his eyes at all today, he belatedly realized. She really had been avoiding looking at him for days. Something was very off about this.

"I don't believe you," he announced flatly, the words falling from his lips before he'd realized what he was going to say. He had no plans, no idea what he was going to say, no idea of what was going to happen now. For the first time since he'd met her, he had nothing to lose where she was concerned. She'd already broken his heart.

It was… freeing. It was an odd realization to have but it was true. When they'd first met, he'd been so impressed by her, fascinated by her, he'd immediately set out to flirt and try to make her like him—admittedly, not very wisely. Back then, he'd been so used to playing the jackass playboy everywhere outside of his own home that he'd barely felt like it was an act at all and he'd learned too late that Kate Beckett was the first woman he'd met in years who was not about to be won over by a celebrity playboy.

More recently, in the days since his first condolence visit to the precinct, he'd been so thankful to be back in her life and so afraid to be kicked out of her life again, that he'd watched his words and generally behaved himself as well as he could. And of course, he had carefully avoided betraying just how deep and how strong his feelings for her went. She'd barely accepted him as a friend and then a work colleague again and Beckett was not emotionally trusting to begin with; now was not the time to confess that he was irrevocably in love with her.

All that was gone now. There was nothing more to hide. He'd already blurted out the truth of his feelings—okay, practically yelled it at her.

What was that line from Austen, that seldom does complete truth belong to any human disclosure? It was true but he thought that now, after all this time, on his side at least, he was done holding back.

She wasn't looking at him and hadn't responded, only lay there as if she'd been stricken. Her passivity struck yet another wrong note in all this.

Slowly, the fog of hurt was starting to lift, his mind starting to function again. Something wasn't right. He needed to think about this, consider the evidence. Not just the words because if there was one thing he'd learned from working with Beckett and the cops, it was not to take people's words at face value, _nullius in verba. _ Actions were more important, real solid evidence. He had to consider the evidence that would make this story make sense. Because right now, nothing made sense.

"I don't believe you," he repeated again, his words coming slowly as he tried to cudgel his brain into functioning. "I don't believe you really want me to leave," he went on, realizing as he said so that it was true and it wasn't only his own hurt and unwillingness to leave speaking. "You didn't meet my eyes and you're still avoiding looking at me. That's not like you." And she'd been crying. Her own actions, his leaving as a result of her words… somehow, in some way, what had happened hurt her, made her cry. And he knew Beckett didn't cry easily.

The other thing that wasn't like Beckett was the idea that she had lied before about wanting to try for a real relationship. Some women might say such a thing lightly but not Beckett. Beckett, who almost never spoke about anything personal and certainly never did so lightly. For her to say such a thing to him, for her to kiss him the way she had—no, she'd meant it. His ego aside, he knew Beckett. She didn't go around kissing men she didn't care about—nothing he knew about Kate Beckett indicated she was someone who had one night stands or meaningless flings. And even if she were, she'd known him too well and for too long for her to think they could have some meaningless fling and nothing more. She wasn't silly enough to think such a thing. Whatever Beckett's faults, silliness wasn't one of them. Maybe two years ago, back when they'd first met, they could have—well, no, at least not on his side because he couldn't imagine not falling for her, no matter what. One night or even a few nights would never have been enough for him.

He dragged his mind away from the hypothetical. It wasn't only her kiss(es) or even her words; it was the way she'd turned to him for comfort, holding his hand, letting him hug her. The way she'd let him decide what to do with the picture of Montgomery with Raglan and McAllister. She trusted him. And not just before her shooting but even yesterday, with Agent Shaw, she'd reached out to clasp his fingers, seeking comfort or reassurance from his touch when she'd needed it.

Small gestures perhaps where anyone else was concerned but for Kate Beckett, they spoke volumes. None of that was an indication of someone who actually felt suffocated by his worry and his caring. And if she didn't want him to hover, wanted some space, she would have told him so because since when was Beckett hesitant to point out his mistakes? She wasn't. It was one reason he trusted her so much because she was possibly the only woman outside of his family who didn't flatter him or otherwise treat him differently because of his money or his fame or his connections or his looks.

Something else was going on for her to push him away. He was suddenly sure of that. Jim himself had told him that Beckett cared about him and trusted him and it was clear that Jim Beckett knew his daughter well.

She was pushing him away and being Beckett, she knew how to do so, the chinks in his armor, so to speak, although where she was concerned, he wasn't sure he had any armor. Was terrifyingly vulnerable to her, as had just been demonstrated.

Pushing him away. Wait, the phrase tugged at him. She'd said the same thing, warned him in talking about the wall she'd built inside her. _It won't be easy. I'll get scared and try to push you away but I do want to try and take down the wall. _

That was what she was doing. Had almost succeeded in doing. It had to be what she was doing. It made sense, fit with what he knew of her. Because he knew she didn't trust easily, didn't like being vulnerable or showing weakness. It might have been the one honest, sincere thing she'd said earlier, that she couldn't stand being pitied.

"I don't pity you," he blurted out.

"What?" Finally, something he said got a response.

"Before, you said you couldn't take being pitied but I don't pity you. And I'm not staying with you out of pity; I'm staying with you because I want to. I've had plenty of experience at being away from you, Beckett, so believe me when I tell you that being near you is better. My life is better with you in it."

"But you can't!" she burst out and then went on, her tone brittle but still certain. "You say that now but you don't really know."

"I know _you_ and that's enough."

"You only think you know me but you don't."

"I know that you crawled into your mother's murder and didn't come out," he shot back. "I know that you don't let people in and you're so afraid of being hurt that you don't allow anyone close enough to be able to hurt you. I also know that you deserve to be happy, you could be happy, if you'd just let yourself trust someone enough."

She'd lost any color she'd regained and tears were once again glistening in her eyes but her mouth remained set and firm.

"You don't understand," she bit off.

"I understand that you're trying to push me away right now because you're scared. But I told you before that I'm not going anywhere and I meant it."

"I'm not Nikki Heat! I'm not even the same person you think you know!" she flared. "Just look at me! I can't be that person anymore!"

"You're still Kate Beckett, still the woman I—" he broke off. No, saying that again was a step too far, even in his current state. "Care about," he finished instead.

Something that might have been a flinch flashed across her face. She knew what he hadn't said. Oddly, he felt a little heartened at the reaction because it meant she did care about his earlier admission of his feelings.

"Just look at me! I can't even sit up straight, let alone walk! How can you possibly—it wouldn't be fair!" she exploded, her own frustration escaping her, as she struggled to straighten up, only to fall back with a sharp hiss.

Oh. Oh, Beckett. What she meant was that it wouldn't be fair to _him_. Now he understood. Should have understood earlier. He'd been worried all along about how much Beckett would hate being so helpless, how she tried to hide all vulnerabilities. More than that, she didn't like relying on other people, didn't like asking for help. Not only because she was independent but because it was the kind of person Beckett was; she was someone who helped, a protector, shouldering other people's burdens, the weight of the world.

It was why he and Jim had needed to take turns not to leave her alone because Beckett wouldn't have allowed either of them to spend all their time in the hospital. And Jim had asked him to make sure Beckett wasn't alone, not in the literal sense but also figuratively, so she would know she didn't need to go through all this on her own.

Except this was Beckett and she wasn't the kind of person to allow anyone to shoulder her burdens for her. Even the way she'd turned to him in extremity, when Agent Shaw's news had pushed her to the edge—he should have realized Beckett would not react well to a show of vulnerability. Would not like the way she'd needed him. So like her to think of needing help of any kind as taking advantage.

It was one of the reasons he knew he could trust her, because Beckett took care of others, would protect him even from her own self if she thought it necessary. Lovable idiot that she was.

"It wouldn't be fair to me, you mean," he returned. No more evasion, no more subtext.

"Yes." Her tone was dulled, resigned, as if relieved she wouldn't need to fight anymore. "I know you're worried about me and you want to help me but I don't want you to. You didn't sign up for this. When you said… you wanted to be with me," her breathing stuttered almost imperceptibly as she forcibly controlled her tone, "you didn't know what would happen. And it wouldn't be fair."

He bit back the urge to promise her that nothing else mattered to him except for her, that he would do anything for her, that he would never leave her. Extravagant promises weren't what she needed to hear right now; she wouldn't believe them because in her experience, words were cheap. People lied. And not just to her as a cop but in her personal life too, he thought.

Oh yes, he understood her now. His chest felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise but he understood. Beckett didn't trust easily and he had to admit she hadn't had much reason to trust others or to rely on them.

Beckett trusted her dad, yes, but she didn't really allow herself to rely on Jim. Castle remembered what she'd first told him about Jim, about why she wore his watch. For the life she had saved. She had saved Jim—but when her mom had died, Beckett had been little more than a child herself. Castle was a father and as much as he'd grown to like and even respect Jim, he had to admit that for a father to fall so far that he would need to be saved by his child was a failure and a betrayal on Jim's part. An inversion of the way things should be. Parents were supposed to be the ones taking care of their children. And Beckett, so young herself and devastated by her mom's death, had not been able to rely on her one remaining parent.

And since then, who had been there for Beckett to rely on? Beckett the independent, the self-sufficient. He knew that about her but now he could see what had made her become so self-sufficient. Beckett was a survivor and she had survived by not relying on anyone else because no one had been there for her to rely on.

Even Captain Montgomery, her friend and her mentor, had ended up betraying her, keeping secrets from her. Montgomery had tried to make amends but it didn't entirely erase the fact that he too had betrayed Beckett.

Now Beckett was pushing Castle away to protect herself from future hurt, a preemptive measure because, he realized slowly, she didn't—perhaps could not—believe that he would honestly want to stay with her and take care of her. Beckett was the one who took care of others, not the other way around.

Oh, yes, he understood now. And understanding presaged forgiveness, the beginning of healing.

He looked at her with clearer eyes, saw her chin set with all the Beckett stubbornness. If he wanted her to really listen, accept that she was not using him, he would have to shock her out of her stubbornness. "If letting me stay with you, letting me help you, is your idea of taking advantage of me, you really suck at it."

"I—what?" She blinked, gaping at him.

"You are terrible at taking advantage of me. Try marrying me for my money and my fame and then abandoning me when you get bored. Or to keep it simpler, stick to the old-fashioned way of flattery and sucking up, convincing me you think I'm god's gift so you can use me for my money or my connections or my fame, whatever you want. I know what it's like to be used and that's not what you're doing."

He really was being honest. He wasn't sure he'd ever put into words before the stark—and ugly—truth about his life as Richard Castle, the celebrity. He didn't much like to admit it to himself even, let alone to anyone else. Pretending his life as a rich, handsome celebrity was a charmed one without any drawbacks was better, easier. And in all fairness, he knew perfectly well that he was lucky and whatever problems he had were minor in the grand scheme of things so he really had no reason to complain.

The single biggest thing his life lacked, that he'd never had, was a real, lasting relationship, a lasting love. A woman he could trust with all of himself, who would want him only for himself. And then he'd met Beckett. It was what he loved about her, well, one of the things. That she was possibly the only woman he'd met in years who didn't want anything from him, not really, or at least, what she wanted was just him, the man. She hated his celebrity status and his playboy reputation, wasn't interested in his connections. She didn't care about his money; she was one of the few people he knew who persisted in protesting when he paid for meals or anything else. The only things she'd ever allowed him to buy her without protest were cups of coffee and the occasional bear claw.

His little outburst succeeded in shocking her. She didn't respond immediately, only stared at him, and now for the first time in days, she wasn't avoiding looking at him.

"Do you really think I don't know what it looks like to be taken advantage of?" he asked more quietly. "I've been surrounded by people wanting to take advantage of me for their own reasons for years. I know what I'm getting into with you and I don't need to be protected from you."

It was a long couple minutes before she spoke and when she did, it was a mumble, mostly to herself rather than to him. "The white whale."

It was his turn to gape at her. Huh, what? Could she be delirious? Coming just after he'd plumed himself on understanding her, it seemed strangely fitting that she completely confused him now. He might know her but she would never stop surprising him. "What are you talking about?"

"It's just… do you remember the MADT fundraiser we went to a couple years ago?"

He blinked, confused but also strangely encouraged. She was responding to him, not arguing with him. Her tone, her expression, had changed. "Of course I remember. For the home invasion case. What does that have to do with anything?"

"One of the women there talked to me about you."

He still didn't understand. "Um, okay. Whatever she said, that was years ago now and I—"

"It wasn't anything bad about you, Castle. She just told me that other women, the ones who spend their lives going to those fancy parties, mingling with rich people, call you the white whale."

Well. Really. "I knew the women on the celebrity party circuit were ridiculous but I didn't realize they were that ridiculous." But he inwardly winced as he said so. Because, yes, they might have been using him but to be honest, he'd been perfectly willing to accept what they offered, had had more than his fair share of fun in letting himself be used, so to speak. It wasn't admirable and he wasn't proud of it but it hadn't exactly been a hardship to have a lot of nubile women flirt with him and more. And he didn't want Beckett to be reminded of his playboy past, that side of him she'd always disliked.

"Are you really sure?" Her question was quiet and her eyes dropped from his to look down at her blanket instead, at where her fingers were restlessly folding and then smoothing out the fold.

It was quite possibly the most inappropriate timing ever but he found himself strangely mesmerized by the movements of her slender fingers, her hands. "Sure about what?"

Her hands stilled. "Are you really sure about me, about… us? Even now?"

_Us._ The word jolted his heart and his eyes flew to her face. She was biting her lip in that way she had when she was considering something.

"Yes." He was as sure of her as he'd ever been about anything.

"But how… why… I'm not… good at relationships… And right now, I'm so…" She made a little gesture with her hands that indicated her hospital bed, their surroundings.

The reference to a relationship gave him the courage to reach out, sliding his hand under hers where it rested on her blanket, not exactly holding her hand because he didn't curl his fingers, only let his open palm rest beneath hers. She didn't pull her hand away. She didn't grasp his hand either but she didn't pull away, kept their hands together. It was enough for now.

_Palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss, _his literary mind inserted and he pushed the irrelevant thought aside.

"It's like I told you before. I know what it's like to be away from you. You're a hard person to miss, Kate Beckett. Even these last few days, being with you is better. It's always better to be with you."

"But I… hurt you. I tried to break up with you…"

He shrugged, trying with limited success for his usual insouciance. "I'm not that easy to get rid of."

"Castle…"

He bent, forcing her to meet his eyes. "It's okay. No lasting damage." He meant it. He'd been hurt but the wound would heal. She'd tried to push him away, not because she didn't care but because she did. They had more to talk about; there was still more healing to take place. But he knew she cared about him, still wanted him with her. It was a start.

Now, her fingers curled around his. And he felt the vise around his chest loosen as her grasp on his hand tightened. "Rick… I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven." Although, even as he said it, he thought he didn't have much to forgive her for. She'd hurt him but she'd been trying to protect him, from herself. His darling idiot Beckett. Her expression hadn't lightened enough for his liking. He managed one of his usual teasing smirks, threw in a little wriggle of his eyebrows. "Want to kiss me and make it better?"

She choked on a combination of a sob and the beginnings of a laugh. "Castle…" She lifted her free hand to cup his cheek and he lowered his head to give her greater ease of access. And then she kissed him, lifting her head just enough to close the distance between their mouths.

The kiss acted as a balm, soothing and healing the wounds left on his heart. Kissing Beckett could, he thought, heal every hurt he'd ever felt.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to everyone who's still keeping up with this story.


	24. Chapter 24

Author's Note: This was another hard chapter to write because Kate and Castle still have more talking to do.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 24_

The kiss was soft, tender—and brief. Kate didn't quite have the strength to hold herself up for long, not even the small distance to kiss him, and the kiss perforce ended when she had to fall back against the bed. But Castle followed, almost chasing her lips as he bent to brush his lips against hers once and then again, for good measure. She opened her eyes as Castle slowly drew back, reaching up to curl his fingers around her hand resting on his cheek, replacing one caress with another. She thought absurdly, irrationally, that maybe kisses could heal certain kinds of wounds. And even for the physical wounds they could not heal, it was at least an effective distraction from the pain.

"There, see. That's better. You look more cheerful already," he told her quietly. So did he, his eyes a bright blue, his lips curved. He looked more like his usual self, the lightheartedness she always associated with him restored, at least mostly. The change, the contrast, sent a sharp pang through her chest, her heart twisting at the memory of how he'd looked earlier, the devastation darkening his eyes and etching lines into his face, making him for the first time in his memory look his actual age and then some. She never wanted to see him look like that again.

She suddenly thought of Jordan Shaw with a renewed rush of gratitude. Before, her gratitude had been somewhat grudging; she could appreciate that Jordan was helping but it had been hard to feel very warmly towards someone who'd pushed her into such a betrayal of her own neediness, her weakness. Using Castle for his strength and his support much more than she already had been.

But she also acknowledged that if Jordan hadn't visited, hadn't provided the reassurance that the FBI would be stepping in to protect her and those associated with her mom's case, Montgomery's past—which included Castle now—she wasn't sure what she would have done. Hurting Castle, seeing the pain in his expression, had been almost more than she could bear. One of the reasons she'd tried to avoid looking at him was because she honestly wasn't sure she could have forced herself to do what she'd thought she had to do if she saw the depths of his hurt. But no matter how hard it would have been, she absolutely could not have compromised Castle's safety, his very life. She would have needed to persist, no matter what Castle said. But thanks to Jordan's promise, her deepest fear that being with her would put Castle's life in danger, had been mostly assuaged, leaving her only with the fear that she could not be good enough for Castle now, that she would only be taking advantage of his kindness, his heart.

But for once in Kate's life, she thought she'd encountered a will power equal to her own so she wasn't sure she would have been able to win out over him, at least not when she was forcing herself to do what she didn't want to do. He had come back, even after she'd so brutally sent him away, had come back and fought her, fought for their relationship. No one had ever really challenged her like that, gone toe to toe with her. It made her like him more, strange as it might seem. It hadn't really occurred to her before but she realized Castle might have a strength of will, a stubbornness, that was a match to her own. Although come to think of it, maybe she should have realized it because whatever else, Castle had never shown signs of being intimidated by her. He might be easygoing and kind but he wasn't weak, nor was he naive. It was reassuring somehow.

She'd never heard him sound so bitter about his wealth and his fame and it had never occurred to her to consider what his experience with wealth and fame had been like. When she thought of Castle's wealth and celebrity status, it was through the lens of her own insecurity, to wonder if she could be enough. She hadn't really considered the downside to Castle's fortune, until now.

But she was cynical enough to guess at the sycophancy and general insincerity Castle would have encountered. She thought about the silly woman who'd called him the white whale, not knowing anything about Castle except for his looks, his money, and his playboy reputation. Those women asking him to sign their chests—Castle was too smart not to realize how shallow their interest in him was. She pictured the celebrity playboy she'd seen at his book launch party years ago and this time saw it for what it was, a defense mechanism, a shield to keep people at a distance. Meaningless sex was one thing but she knew Castle well enough to know he'd have kept those women far away from Alexis, his family, to say nothing of his heart.

Castle deserved better than some woman who would never be able to see past his wealth and fame or who wouldn't really care even if she could see past all that. And Kate had seen enough of the world to know that disinterested friendship was hard to find and maybe even harder for the very rich and famous.

If what Castle wanted was someone real, someone who didn't care about his money or his fame—she could be that person for him. Oddly, or not so oddly, she had never really wondered why Castle liked her so much but now, it occurred to her that maybe, at a basic level, he liked her because she didn't care about his money or his fame. More, she understood that in his own way, Castle didn't trust much more easily than she did but somehow, Castle trusted her, not only with Alexis but with his heart.

And all she had done was hurt him, try to send him away. It was what she did, pushed people away. She wasn't sure she knew how to be in a real relationship.

"You're doing it again," he chided gently.

She blinked, focusing again on his so familiar, so dear face. "What?"

He smoothed a finger lightly over her forehead. "Frowning. What are you thinking about?"

_You._ The too-revealing answer stuck in her throat. The habit of reticence couldn't be easily reversed. "My recovery," she answered instead, not entirely untruthfully. "Are you really sure you can put up with me?"

"I'm sure."

"It's going to be hard. I'm not… a good patient," she warned him, not quite fluently. "I'll be irritable and snap at you and probably make you want to strangle me."

"Just because something is hard is not a reason to give up. You taught me that. And I hate to break it to you, Beckett, but I never thought you were an angel, all sweetness and light." A thread of teasing slipped into his tone. "In fact, I think you're the most maddening, frustrating, challenging person I've ever met."

She huffed something that was the beginnings of a watery laugh.

He touched a finger to her chin until she had to meet his eyes, his expression entirely sober, sincere. "You're also the most remarkable person I've ever met and I figured out a long time ago that you are worth any challenge."

She had to fight to hold back the stupid tears pricking at the back of her eyes. "You've never had to deal with me when I'm so helpless. If you thought I was maddening before…"

She broke off when he pressed a gentle finger to her lips, effectively stopping her words, a gesture that she was surprised didn't annoy her as it normally would have. "I'll make you a deal, Beckett. If I ever start to feel like you're asking for too much or somehow taking advantage of me, I'll tell you. And in return, you tell me when I'm hovering too much and you need some space."

A give and take. Could they really manage it, learn to navigate a new relationship even as she was recovering from such a serious injury? She wasn't sure how he could be so sure of her, of _them_. She didn't have that kind of confidence.

But even as she thought it, she remembered what her dad had said to her just over a week ago, when she'd been talking to him about Castle and her doubts about trying for a relationship with him. _I just want to make sure that whatever you choose is about what you want, not what you're afraid of. Life is about taking chances sometimes to go after what you want and the rewards usually outweigh the risks. _

She had decided to take the risk but here she was, afraid again. And she was afraid for the same reason, she suddenly realized. She'd been afraid of getting hurt, of becoming more vulnerable to Castle than she already was—ultimately, she'd been afraid of losing him. And her fears now that she wouldn't be enough for Castle were about the same thing, a fear of loss, that she would end up driving him away because of her neediness, her physical and yes, her emotional weakness.

She was so tired of being afraid, she thought. Tired of trying to deny what she wanted, to be with Castle.

She remembered a line she'd heard somewhere, that a life lived in fear is a life half-lived.

A life half-lived. And she had already nearly died—but she hadn't died. She'd survived. Survived a bullet to the chest—she managed the thought with only a small inward flinch—only to go on only half-alive?

No, she didn't want that. She wanted… Castle.

She had a flash of memory to the cemetery, lying on the grass with Castle's face looming over her. Her breath stuttered in her chest but for the first time, she wasn't focused on the memory of pain or of her own terror. She remembered instead her last coherent thought before fading out—that she didn't want to leave Castle.

She hadn't wanted to leave Castle. As if somehow, irrational as it might be, the thought of him had been an anchor, tethering her to life.

"Beckett." His voice tugged her back to the present. "I didn't think what I said was that complicated," he joked gently.

"No, it wasn't. It's a deal," she promised, a little shakily, but she meant it. "And I'm sorry for trying to push you away." Sorry for her own cowardice, sorry for hurting him. She would have to do better from now on, try harder to take down her wall and let him in.

"You already said that. Don't start getting predictable on me now, Beckett, after keeping me on my toes for so long," he teased.

She managed a wobbly little smile. "Well, I'd hate for you to get bored."

His lips tipped upward. "Bored, with you? Not likely," he scoffed. "You are a lot of things, Beckett, but boring isn't one of them."

"No, I'm maddening, challenging, and frustrating," she rallied. "Very flattering of you, Castle."

"If you want flattery, I can flatter you. 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?'" he warbled, his tone and expression a parody of ardor. "'Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake…'"

She choked on a laugh. "Castle, stop."

He stopped, a real smile softening his expression, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It made you laugh so mission accomplished."

Oh, this man. She didn't think she'd ever known anyone who made her smile so easily and so often. And she could only silently promise herself and him that she would do her part to make him smile just as he did her. "You're good at that," she blurted out.

His lips curved into a smirk, humor filling his eyes. "At what, flattery?"

"No, at making me smile."

Ironically, her words made his smile fade. "Kate…" he breathed. And then he was abruptly surging forward to kiss her and she decided if that was the reward she got for her candor, she should make such admissions more often.

His kiss was still gentle and relatively brief and when she opened her eyes, her heart flipped at the expression on his face. Not quite a smile but he looked happy, the faint curve of his lips, the warmth and brightness of his eyes. This was what she wanted; she wanted to keep seeing him look like this.

His hand cupped her face, his thumb tenderly smoothing over the curve of her cheek. "It's okay, you know. We're going to get through this and we'll be okay. We're going to be great together."

She managed a smile. "Great, huh, you're sure about that?"

He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "We're already great at kissing, even in a hospital, hardly a romantic setting, so why not?"

Ridiculous man. A laugh bubbled out of her at this deliberate silliness. "Impeccable reasoning," she quipped dryly.

"I thought so," he smirked. Trying so hard to distract her from her lingering fears, lift her spirits.

But strangely enough, it seemed to be working, because she did feel more hopeful. Not because of his illogic but because of him. Castle, who had already seen her at her worst, after she'd set out to hurt him and push him away, but who had still come back and challenged her, refused to let her push him away. Their friendship, their relationship in a non-romantic sense, had already been through so many ups and downs, each of them hurting the other, but they were still here, together.

What was it he'd said, that she was a hard person to miss? So was he. She had tried to forget him, tried to stop thinking about him, tried to stop missing him—and failed. Failed abysmally, on every count. In a way that had never happened to her before.

Even after Will had left for Boston—she'd been hurt, yes, and she had missed him but she'd recovered, gotten over Will. In hindsight, she could even see that moving on after Will had not been as hard or taken as long as it perhaps should have, if she'd really cared about Will as much as she'd thought.

Castle was different. It shouldn't have been possible, really, to fall for a man after she'd kicked him out of her life but she had. Or maybe she'd been falling for him from the start and just never realized it, let alone admitted it, until after she'd kicked him out. But however it had happened, she already knew Castle was not a man who could easily be gotten over. She cared about him too much for that.

She had to do better, was determined to make this relationship work. Because she had a niggling sense—terrifying as the thought was—that if she couldn't make things work with Castle, she'd never be able to make things work with anyone, would never have the kind of relationship she wanted. She didn't know why or how she could be thinking like this so soon but something inside her was telling her that Castle might be it for her. (Oh god.)

He shifted, wriggling his shoulders a little, and she belatedly became aware that he had to be uncomfortable, bent over her as he stood by her bed. She should have thought of his discomfort sooner. She could tell him to sit down in the chair but that suddenly seemed too far away. If he was sitting down, he wouldn't be able to touch her.

"Castle, come here."

He raised his eyebrows a little. "I'm already next to you."

"No, I meant, come join me on the bed." She paused and grimaced. "But I think I'll need your help to scoot over first."

Instead, Castle straightened up, putting some more distance between them. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't." She mustered a teasing smirk. "I didn't think I'd need to persuade you to get into bed with me."

His expression eased as he huffed a small laugh. "Well, if you're sure…"

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't."

It took some slow, rather awkward maneuvering and Kate had to keep from betraying some twinges of pain as he gently helped her to shift over on the bed before he lowered the handrail on his side and cautiously perched on the edge.

It was something of a squeeze, their bodies ending up pressed together, closer than they'd ever really been, she thought, but it worked. Even better, it allowed her to lean against him as he slid a careful arm around her shoulders.

Mm, oh, this was definitely better, she thought rather fuzzily, feeling the tension in her body start to dissolve as she relaxed against him. She felt his breath against her temple and then his lips against her hair. Her hair that was in dire need of a wash, she reflected with an inward grimace, but Castle didn't appear to notice or care as he rested his cheek against her hair.

"You feel okay?"

She sensed rather than saw his smile. "I'm pretty sure I should be asking you that."

"You're comfortable enough?" He was the one perched somewhat precariously on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sharing a bed with you for the first time. I've never been better."

She felt a sharp twist of regret. "This isn't how I'd imagined sharing a bed with you."

"You're admitting you did imagine us in bed together?" he returned provokingly and she hadn't realized it was possible to hear a leer.

She huffed, trying (and failing) not to blush. "Shut up, Castle, you knew that already."

He laughed softly, pressing another kiss to her hair, and it was only then that she realized how neatly he'd distracted her from her regret, the burgeoning melancholy. So like him, still trying to keep her spirits up.

She turned her head to brush a kiss to the underside of his somewhat bristly chin, the only part of him she could reach at the moment, and then settled back against him, her head finding a little hollow of his shoulder.

And even though she certainly didn't plan it or want to do so, she found her eyelids growing heavy, lulled into drowsiness by the warmth of him against her, the security of his arm around her.

* * *

She was in the alley again. She'd seen it before, the scene playing out in her mind countless times over the years, the dark figure of a man running at her mom, the glint of a knife, her mom crumpling to the ground, the blade of the knife flashing again as the man stabbed her mom.

Kate could only watch, frozen and rooted to the ground, her scream of despair and rage and terror trapped in her throat.

But this time, there was another man, a dark shadow watching from the other end of the alley. He turned and she somehow saw his face—William Bracken—and then he had a rifle in his hand and she distantly heard the crack, felt the burning pain in her chest. She was falling again and then she was caught, trapped, being dragged away from her mom's still body. _No! Please, no!_ She couldn't leave her mom there, to die alone!

"Kate! Kate, wake up!"

Kate jerked, dragging in a convulsive breath, as her eyes flew open and she gasped for air, distraught, disoriented. And saw Castle, his familiar worried face in the dimness of the room, became belatedly aware that he was the one holding her, his hand grasping her arm.

His other hand lifted to brush some wetness from her cheeks—oh, she'd been crying—before cupping her face. "Ssh, Kate, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here. It was just a dream..."

"Castle," she almost whimpered, sagging into him. He tightened his arm around her, his hand moving up and down over her shoulder and arm in slow, soothing movements. And gradually, her breathing and her heart rate, the insidious tremors shaking her, slowed, became calmer.

It was not the first, or the second—or the hundredth—time that she'd dreamed about her mother's murder, the imagined scene playing out in her mind, leaving her a sobbing, shaking wreck. What was different was seeing Bracken, knowing who had really been behind her mother's murder.

And Castle. Opening her eyes to see Castle, being able to curl into the solid, comforting warmth of him.

What was different was not being alone.

There had been a handful of times when she'd jerked awake from similar nightmares when she'd been with Will, the only one of the few boyfriends she'd had in the years since her mom's death with whom she'd shared a bed to sleep on a regular enough basis for her nightmares to intrude. But Will hadn't known, had never awoken. He hadn't been one for cuddling in sleep nor had she ever thought she would want to be cuddled either. No, when her nightmares had intruded, she'd retreated, curling up away from him or sometimes getting out of bed entirely for a glass of water—a convenient excuse—or to read or do some light yoga, anything to distract and calm herself. And she had always managed alone.

It was easier not being alone, she thought slowly, even reluctantly. She could not say she liked admitting it—she, who prided herself on being able to take care of herself, on being in control—but it was easier, better. Not having to hide, not having to fight alone. Because Castle was there, his touch, his scent, his voice, all serving to keep her grounded, the tangible reality of her current surroundings. Not alone, not in that dirty alley, not watching in helplessness as her mom was murdered, not dying.

He was talking, his quiet litany of soothing reassurances continuing in somewhat different vein as he went on. She'd never thought that his tendency to prattle could be comforting but right now, it was. And how did he know it was what she needed? "I think whoever first said New York is the city that never sleeps must have been in a hospital because the hospital definitely never sleeps, have you noticed? They pretend, dimming the lights in the rooms and all, but it's only a pretense. There's always staff and I swear I think the janitor's cleaning carts squeak louder at night too although I suppose I shouldn't comment since I almost yelled when Alexis was born, never mind that it was almost 4 in the morning…" And on he went with his patter, going on to talk about the hours he spent waiting for his baby girl to be born and how he first saw her and then moving on to the nights he spent trying to soothe a crying baby.

It was pleasant, calming, listening to his quiet, familiar voice, all the more so as his tone had softened in that way it always did when he talked about Alexis. She found her eyes closing and this time, the images in her mind weren't of death or violence but of Castle and a baby Alexis, images of life and love and family. And those were the images she took with her as she drifted to sleep.

* * *

Castle wasn't sure how long he went on talking. For once in his life, he thought he might have talked himself out, having lost the thread of his own patter some time ago as he rambled about Alexis, always his favorite subject and the one that first came to mind when he wanted to talk about something cheerful since she had always been the best part of his life. He'd always thought he could talk about his daughter for hours and while he didn't think it had actually been even one hour, he suspected he might be getting close to it.

His voice had lowered into a whisper, partly to save his own throat, and then slowed as he paused between sentences and waited, hardly daring to breathe himself as he listened to the quiet, regular sound of Beckett's breathing, felt the laxness of her body against his.

She was asleep. Again.

It occurred to him that of everything that had happened over these last few hours, all the amazing heights and devastating lows, the best and most miraculous thing might be the knowledge—the fact—that Kate Beckett trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms.

He hadn't felt so moved—as if he was suddenly as strong as Superman and simultaneously so tremulous in his emotion, so humbled and so awed, he hardly dared to breathe—since he'd first held a baby Alexis in his arms and realized this tiny, beautiful, helpless creature was his to care for and nurture and protect.

This was different of course because Kate was not helpless and it was not his job to take care of her but it was in its own way just as powerful, just as amazing.

He suspected that he was probably the first person Kate had allowed to comfort her after a nightmare in years, possibly not since her mom had died.

He considered Will Sorenson with an equanimity he'd never managed before—hard to feel jealous of Sorenson or of anyone else with Kate next to him as she was, her warm body curled up against his—but no, he would still guess that Kate would not have allowed Sorenson to comfort her. She wouldn't have wanted Sorenson to see her as being weak.

And Kate would view suffering from nightmares as a sign of weakness. She was a fighter, with all a fighter's strength and weaknesses, a reluctance to accept her own limitations. That drive, her determination to be the best, had made her the best cop in the city but like many virtues, it had a downside too, a reluctance to accept she might need help.

He'd never expected a relationship with Beckett would be easy, had he? It would simply have to be his mission, to somehow persuade her into realizing that needing help sometimes wasn't a sign of weakness. And to understand that she could trust him, lean on him, to prop her up when she needed it. He didn't even need to think to know that she would be there for him when he needed it.

She really did trust him, as Jim had said. More than that, she cared about him enough to try to protect him and he didn't think anyone aside from his mother and Alexis had ever wanted to protect him. But his mother and Alexis were his family and for the most part, he was the one who took care of them. Kate was not part of his family—not yet, a voice in his mind inserted-so the depths of her caring was different, meant more. It meant everything.

He looked down at her sleeping face. She looked peaceful right now, something like longing squeezing his heart at the sight.

She'd let him stay with her, had turned to him for comfort after a nightmare. She trusted him enough to sleep in his arms. It was a start.

He bent and brushed a kiss to her temple before he settled back more comfortably on the bed, allowing his own eyes to slip closed. For the first time in a week, he thought he could sleep in peace, free from his own recurring nightmares.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Early on, in the writing of this story, I estimated that it would end up being around 25 chapters long but I'm realizing just how terrible I am at guessing how long it will take to tell a story as this story is not that close to being finished. Um, oops? I can't thank everyone who's still reading this story enough. Every review is much appreciated.


	25. Chapter 25

Author's Note: Some more necessary conversations. Enjoy.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 25_

Kate awoke suddenly, why she wasn't sure, aware of an odd sense of disorientation, confusion. Why—what—and realized only belatedly that the reason for the confusion, the vague sense that something was different, was because she'd slept, peacefully, felt… rested in a way she hadn't in days.

Oh, and Castle was still in bed with her, holding her, although his hand was slack as it rested against her arm and she could hear the steady sound of his breathing by her ear, telling her he was asleep.

She blinked her eyes open, guessing that it was still early. The night shift hadn't ended yet.

She turned her head slowly until she could see his face, his head tilted a little away from her so she was presented with a view of his profile.

She had only seen Castle asleep a couple times now and never at such close range. It made his familiar face look oddly different, her eyes slowly wandering over his features with a thoroughness she'd never allowed herself before.

His features were slack, smoothed out peacefully, making him look younger. Well, younger except for the stubble darkening his cheeks. His mobile, expressive mouth was slightly parted and she felt a sudden impulse to kiss him because she could do that now but refrained because she didn't want to wake him just yet. She was enjoying this opportunity to study him at her leisure, something she couldn't do when he was awake. There was a tiny, very faint scar by one eyebrow and she wondered what long-ago incident had caused it. He had long lashes, she noted with a little flicker of amusement at the single feminine-sounding attribute, an amusement that faded immediately as she noticed something else, something she hadn't really been able to see until now when he was so close. There were bags under his eyes, little lines of tiredness fanning out by his eyes. He wasn't just tired, she realized, he was exhausted.

She knew, of course, that he'd spent every night for the last week in the hospital with her, catching what brief catnaps he could while sitting in the uncomfortable visitor chair, but she'd assumed that he'd slept during the day when he was at home. Certainly in the few times she'd looked at him over the last week, he'd seemed alert and energetic enough, but now she wondered how much of his demeanor had been an act to reassure her dad as well as herself.

She felt a stab of guilt. She was a detective, trained to be observant to even the smallest tells. She should have noticed how tired Castle was but she hadn't.

Not that she'd really looked at him that closely over the last week, she thought with a pang of guilt. She'd been so determined, so sure, that she needed to resist the pull of his presence, needed to train herself to send him away, that she'd been avoiding looking at him. Had told herself that if she didn't give in to her own wish to lean on him, he would be better off too. Would worry less if she never let on how pitifully weak she felt, how much she still hurt every day. Had she been wrong about that too?

And then tonight, she'd woken him up in the middle of the night, kept him awake to talk to her, comfort her until she fell asleep again. Disturbing the sleep he so clearly needed. How long had he stayed awake tonight, calming her down and then because he was worried about her?

Why oh why could she not get things right where he was concerned? Whatever she did, it seemed to be the wrong thing, could not be good for him.

There was a clatter outside, as if someone had knocked some small object down, and Castle startled a little, a soft grunt escaping him, before he blinked his eyes open.

He turned to look at her and she realized she'd been holding her breath—ridiculously—as a faint, somewhat sleepy smile curved his lips. "Mm, Kate, hi," he murmured, his voice low and husky in a way she'd never heard before. It was… sexy.

This was not the time, a voice in her mind spoke up tartly, but the thought was out there. It was intimate, watching him wake up, hearing his voice scratchy from sleep.

She liked it, liked all of it. She liked falling asleep nestled against his warmth and his strength, liked waking up to see him, liked seeing him wake up. Liked the sleep-roughened tones of his voice saying her name. And she could only imagine she would like it even more if she were well enough for them to engage in more energetic activities in bed.

Oh damn, she needed to stop thinking like this.

"Hi," she belatedly responded, lamely.

His smile deepened slightly but he didn't respond in words, only studied her. She felt his gaze moving over her face with almost as much attention with which she had just been studying him.

His smile faded, his expression becoming sober, thoughtful, and she didn't know what he was thinking.

"You look tired," she blurted out unthinkingly. "Sorry."

He blinked. "What for? You weren't the one who woke me up."

Yes, she had been. "Yes, I did. Before, in the middle of the night, when I… was upset," she finished lamely and then forced herself to go on. Who was she kidding, it wasn't as if Castle hadn't known perfectly well what had happened. "When I had a nightmare."

A nightmare—but even that sounded like a euphemism, too prosaic, to really describe how she'd fallen apart, how shattered the dream had left her so that he'd needed to talk to her for hours in the middle of the night.

Her lips twisted into a rueful grimace. "Now you know. It's not just all this you'd be dealing with," she gestured to the hospital bed, the machines beside the bed. "It's… everything, me, all my issues. You saw, when Agent Shaw was here, the way I… panicked… and then last night. I'm… such a mess," she forced herself to admit. It was not smooth but it was honest. No point in hiding anymore. But even so, she found she couldn't hold his gaze, her eyes falling from his to focus on her hands resting on the blanket.

He was silent for a moment and it almost seemed as if she could feel herself deflating. She had expected that he would leap to immediately contradict her, assure her that he didn't care about her issues.

"A mess," he repeated. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his tone bizarrely conversational, as if they were merely discussing the weather.

What was going on now? She felt almost as nonplussed as she'd been yesterday when he'd flipped things around and coolly told her she sucked at taking advantage of him. Was that what he was doing, turning things around again? "Yes." The word came out sounding more uncertain than she meant it to, betraying her confusion. "I am a mess," she said again, more firmly. "I have nightmares and I can't—I don't know how to deal with… everything that's happened. I can't even think about it without—" She broke off abruptly. She hadn't meant to admit to all that but better he know now. So he would know what a bad bargain he was getting.

"You want to know something?" he asked, still sounding blandly conversational.

"Okay," she agreed, confused but willing to listen.

"Last night was the first time I've managed to sleep without nightmares in a week. And this morning was the first time I've woken up and not panicked in a week." This confession had her jerking her eyes up to stare at him. Wait, what? He had nightmares too—she hadn't known.

He met her eyes, his expression sober and belying the studied nonchalance of his tone as he finished, "I'm a mess too."

Oh damn, he had done it again, turning what had been her admission of weakness into an admission of his own. But he wasn't a mess, she could not think of him like that. He was… the strong one, the one who comforted her. "You're not. You're the one who helps," she contradicted him, not eloquently.

"For someone so smart, you're being very dense, Beckett. The reason I was able to sleep tonight and wake up without panicking was because of you, because I could open my eyes and look at you." His tone softened and he raised a hand to cup her cheek. "That's the point. We can help each other."

Had she really helped him so much, just by allowing him to be there for her? Could her presence, even in her current state, be as much a source of comfort for him as he was for her? Maybe… she could. She remembered how frantic with fear he'd looked when he'd first seen her after she'd awoken from surgery and then the tentative smiles he'd managed when she'd spoken to him. The relief that had dawned in his eyes.

She'd been so focused on herself, her own pain, on trying not to burden him with her weakness that she'd convinced herself if he didn't see her, didn't know how much she was hurting, he wouldn't worry.

Except that wasn't the way it worked when you cared about someone. She found herself thinking about her dad during the bad years, the years he'd been drowning—a time she avoided thinking about as much as possible and would have preferred to forget—the time when she had stopped trying to save him, left him alone because she'd accepted that she could not save him if he didn't want to be saved. She'd forced herself not to do anything but she'd worried all the more. She'd been terrified, haunted with the fear that she would lose her dad the way she'd lost her mom.

She hadn't kept Castle from worrying at all, had she? If anything, trying to hide from him the way she had might only have worried him more because he was too smart not to guess at how much pain she was still in.

He gave her a faint, wistful smile that seemed to pinch her heart. "All I want, all I've ever really wanted, is to help you, Kate."

She didn't think she'd ever heard him sound so vulnerable. He had insecurities too.

"You have. You do help," she blurted out. "I just… I don't want you to see how weak, how broken, I am," she admitted, her eyes and her voice falling.

"You aren't broken, Kate, you're healing. There's a difference. After everything that's happened, everything you've been through, if you were completely fine with no issues, I'd have to start wondering if you were a cyborg of some kind."

She choked on something that might have been a laugh. Such a typically Castle thing to say. "I'm not a cyborg."

He heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief, pretending to wipe his brow. "That's a relief."

"Silly, Castle."

He gave her a look of affronted dignity. "I am not being silly. I know you think you should be able to leap tall buildings at a single bound—although frankly, I always thought if you had a superpower, it would be telepathy or something like Wonder Woman's lasso of truth," he digressed.

"Castle," she huffed.

"Never mind. I'm just saying, as hard as it might be for you to believe, I don't expect you to be a superhero, Kate. You don't have to apologize for being human." He paused, the beginnings of his usual teasing smirk tugging on his lips. "Now, if you wanted to apologize for falling asleep on me, I'd be more inclined to listen. If I wasn't so secure in the fact that I'm fascinating, I might feel hurt that you apparently find my company to be soporific."

"Fascinating, really," she scoffed, her lips lifting along with her spirits, as she automatically fell into their usual teasing. It was so easy to tease him, and somehow comforting too. "Says who?" She had missed this, their back and forth, the banter. It was a reminder that they were still them, still Beckett and Castle.

He gave her a look of overblown surprise. "I'm a _New York Times_ bestselling author! Michael Connelly himself has called my books riveting and said he couldn't put them down. Of course I'm fascinating!"

"He called your books riveting, not you." She made a show of studying him. "You're a lot of things, Castle, but I wouldn't call you riveting or fascinating either," she drawled.

He huffed in mock offense. "You're mean but you're heavily medicated right now so I'll overlook it."

"Very magnanimous of you."

"Yes, I thought so. I'm generous like that."

He looked and sounded so ridiculously (adorably) smug that she couldn't hold back a bubble of laughter. He really was so good at that, making her laugh.

"Good, you're smiling." His smirk softened into a real smile before he leaned in to kiss her.

The sound of a cough from the door had them both startling apart to see her dad.

"Jim!" Castle snatched his arm back from around her as if he'd been burned and fell rather than slid off the bed in his haste.

Her dad made a show of shrugging out of his light jacket, focusing on the jacket as if it were made out of paper and would rip if he handled it with anything less than scrupulous care, before he looked back up at them, his expression studiously bland. "Good morning, you two." He focused on her. "How are you feeling, Katie?"

"Hi, Dad. I'm fine," Kate managed to meet her dad's eyes, fighting back the stupid blush. She hadn't been caught kissing anyone by her dad since high school. "Did you sleep okay, Dad?" she asked hurriedly, wanting a distraction, only to realize belatedly that maybe mentioning sleep wasn't the wisest thing either since her dad had also seen her and Castle nestled right next to each other, having clearly slept in the same bed, even if it was a hospital bed and she was in no condition to do anything more energetic than sleep.

Castle made a strange sound like a strangled cough while her dad kept his expression blank. "I slept just fine, Katie." He paused before commenting casually, "I stopped off for coffee on the way here and drank it outside since it's a lovely morning."

Her dad was, to his credit, making a show of not having seen anything noteworthy but his pretense of blindness didn't appear to have any effect on Castle. "Good morning, Jim. Well, since you're here, I'll just leave you and Kate to talk. You've reminded me that I haven't had my coffee yet this morning. I'll be back this afternoon in time for the big move," Castle announced, speaking just a shade too loudly and too quickly to sound natural. His eyes briefly flicked back to her. "See you later, Beckett," he finished, now sounding stiffly formal as if he were speaking to someone he barely knew.

"Later, Castle." But before the words were fully out of her mouth, Castle had fled.

Leaving her to face her dad, who didn't even try to hide his satisfied smile, almost a smirk. "I'm glad to see you and Rick have talked."

There was a faint change of tone on the last word that made it sound like a euphemism and Kate felt the color creeping into her cheeks. Which was ridiculous, all the more so because it wasn't as if she was in any physical condition to do anything and she and Castle had only kissed a few times and she was a grown woman who didn't need to answer to her dad for her personal life. "We did," she answered, trying to sound casual.

"Yes, so I saw."

"Dad," she drew the word out.

Her dad gave her a look of entirely spurious innocence. "What, I didn't say anything."

"You were not saying anything very loudly," she returned wryly.

Her dad only smiled, studying her for a long moment before he nodded to himself.

"Just say it, Dad. I know you want to say something."

Her dad patted her hand. "I'm glad Rick is around. He's good for you."

Was it so obvious? "How can you tell?"

"You look happy, Katie. You're smiling."

"I've smiled before," she protested automatically. She'd made a point of smiling as much as she could when her dad was around to keep him from worrying.

"Not like you are now. Your eyes are brighter. I'm your father, I can tell." His expression softened, sobered. "I'm glad, Katie-bug. From what I've seen, I think Rick makes you happy, doesn't he?"

She hesitated for a fleeting second. Castle's ability to make her happy wasn't really in doubt. What she wondered, what she still feared deep down, was if she could make him happy.

Her dad gave her one of his shrewd looks. "What is it? I know that look. Something's bothering you." He pulled the visitor chair forward to be closer to the bed. "Tell your old man what's troubling you," he added with a cajoling half-smile.

Her dad wasn't someone she could talk to about her insecurities, her fear that she could not be good enough for Castle. Her dad was, after all, biased in her favor. But she found she did rather want to talk to her dad, who knew her better than anyone else.

"I'm just worried… this, after everything that's happened, me stuck here—" she managed a gesture to indicate the hospital bed. "It doesn't seem like a good time, the right time, to be starting something new, a new relationship."

Her dad sighed a little, a frown pinching his brows as tended to happen when he was reminded of what had happened to her. "It's not ideal, no," he agreed slowly and she deflated, realizing that she'd been hoping, expecting, her dad to tell her she was being silly, worrying over nothing. Her dad, who had not made a secret of his support for Castle and her relationship with Castle.

"But Katie," he went on, "I don't think it's as big of a concern as you seem to think. You're probably not going to like this much; I know how much you like things to go according to your plans," he added with a wry smile, "but you might have heard that life is what happens when you're making other plans. Life doesn't tend to go according to plan."

It was her turn to sigh. "I know, Dad, but it's just… It's going to be hard; it already has been hard, you and Castle spending so much time here. And I can't help remembering that just two weeks ago, I hadn't even seen Castle in almost two years. We've only been talking, become friends again, in the last two weeks and now… It's a lot to ask of someone I just started talking to again two weeks ago."

"Look, Katie, I don't know exactly what happened between you and Rick two years ago when he stopped working with you and obviously, I don't know the details of what's gone on between you and Castle lately but I think you're focusing too much on the time frame. You haven't just met Rick and from what I've heard from Rick, his feelings for you started a lot longer than two weeks ago."

Ridiculously, she felt herself flushing again at her dad's reference to Castle's feelings for her, his words returning to her. He was _in love_ with her… Oh god, he'd _told_ her he was in love with her, her damaged heart fluttering wildly in her chest in belated reaction.

It hadn't occurred to her at the time in her attempt to shore up her resistance to him but now, it hit her fully that no one had ever told her that he was in love with her before. She hadn't had a serious enough boyfriend in high school or college who would have made such a declaration and after her mom had died, dating had been the furthest thing from her mind. Will was the only really serious boyfriend she'd had and he wasn't given to declarations of emotion. When he'd told her about his plans to move to Boston, he'd told her he cared about her and didn't want to lose her but even then, they had both known that there was no way she could or would go to Boston with him and whatever Will's faults, he was not the kind of man to use a declaration of love to make a breakup harder.

"Maybe this isn't the perfect time but life isn't perfect. All I can tell you again is that there's no magical formula to tell you if a relationship will work. The start of any relationship is a leap of faith, as it were."

She grimaced. "I'm not good at leaps of faith."

"It's not exactly a blind leap, Katie. What it really takes is trust, trust in yourself and in the other person. The circumstances might mean you and Rick face different kinds of challenges than other relationships do starting out but no relationship is without challenges. Relationships take effort on both sides. I know you and you've never failed at anything you've set your mind to in your life. So what it comes down to is this, do you trust Rick?"

That, at least, was an easy question to answer. It might have been the only thing about any of this that was easy. "Yes."

Her dad relaxed into a smile. "Good. That's what I thought. And for what it's worth, I trust Rick too."

"I can tell," she responded rather dryly at the obviousness of the statement. "Don't think I haven't noticed that you and Castle have become very chummy over the last few days."

Her dad gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence. "Don't you want me and Rick to get along?"

"Just be sure not to tell him too many stories from my childhood, Dad."

Her dad raised his hands in surrender. "I won't, promise."

She eyed him with some skepticism since his expression was too ingenuous to be entirely believed but decided not to comment. "Good. What did Castle mean when he said he'd be back for the big move?"

"You being transferred out of the ICU this afternoon, of course. What else would he mean?"

"Oh, I didn't realize he knew." But of course her dad would have mentioned it to Castle. She kept forgetting that her dad and Castle had possibly talked more in the last week than she and Castle had.

"I told Rick about it."

It was a natural enough statement but there was just a shade of something else in her dad's tone and she raised her eyebrows at him. "Oh?"

She met her dad's eyes and after a moment, he went on, "Well, I may have mentioned that you would appreciate it if he were here to see you be transferred."

"Issuing invitations on my behalf now, Dad?" Her dad really had been trying hard to push her and Castle together. Dr. Ogawa had told them about her transfer a few days ago and she guessed her dad had told Castle about it then too, angling for Castle to spend yet more time in the hospital. All when she herself had still been determined to push Castle away. These men and their conspiracy of care, setting her own wish for independence aside. She really should be irritated, she thought, and maybe at another time, she would have been but at that moment, she couldn't muster up even a twinge of annoyance.

Her dad and Castle were acting out of… love… and wondered if she would ever be able to think of Castle's feelings for her without her heart starting to clatter in her chest. (She rather doubted it. Found it hard to imagine ever feeling quite so… confident, so certain of her relationship with Castle that she could think of his feelings with any equanimity.)

Her dad lowered his eyes for a moment, reaching up to rub his hand over his chin in one of his characteristic movements when he was a little nonplussed. But then he looked back up at her. "Now, Katie, you don't mind that I invited Rick to be here for your transfer. I know you like having him around. Don't give me that look. I can tell."

Her dad really did know her well. She felt a swell of warmth in her chest; there was something nice about being known so well and she thought, not for the first time, that she was so glad to have her old dad back, the dad she remembered from growing up and had thought she'd lost for so long. But that was something she could not quite admit so she tried to set her lips primly. "That's not the point. It's the principle of it," she returned with an attempt at dignity.

Of course, she should have realized that wouldn't work. Her dad laughed out loud. "You sound just like you used to when you didn't want to admit being wrong about something."

She gave in and returned his smile. "You're incorrigible, you know."

"I take that as a compliment." Her dad's smile softened. "I just want you to be happy, Katie-bug."

She reached out her hand and her dad grasped it. "I know, Dad. Thanks."

Her dad squeezed her hand lightly. "Of course, Katie."

He gently released her hand just before the effort it took to keep her arm lifted was about to become too much, even though Kate inwardly grumbled at her own continuing weakness. "So, Katie," he began briskly, sitting back in his chair, "have you thought about which of these bouquets from your new flower shop you want to take with you when you move to your new room?"

Kate fell in with the change in subject easily, turning to consider the numerous bouquets filling her room. She knew which ones Castle had brought, one from him and another from Martha and Alexis, as her dad had mentioned to her. She lay back and let her dad pick up each of the other bouquets and remind her who they were from—one from Lanie, one from the 12th precinct as a whole, another from the homicide division specifically (which she guessed had been instigated by the boys), one from One PP, one from Evelyn Montgomery (Kate bit her lip at that, closing her eyes against the prick of tears). One that had arrived just the day before with a card signed simply 'Jordan Shaw,' no mention of the FBI, and Kate could only be thankful for Jordan's discretion since she still wasn't sure how or when she would tell her dad about Jordan and this new phase of her mom's case. As it was, Kate briefly explained, "she's a colleague and friend," and her dad didn't inquire further.

To hide her own unease at the reminder of her mom's case, Kate hurriedly started a running commentary on each bouquet, in which her dad gamely participated, as they discussed each bouquet as if they were auditioning to be judges at a flower show. It might have been one of the odder, more pointless conversations she and her dad had ever had and Kate was, for once, thankful for the arrival of the nurse for the usual morning check-up of Kate's progress which preceded Dr. Ogawa's arrival for the final battery of tests before Dr. Ogawa would officially approve Kate's transfer out of the ICU.

The tests were painful, requiring Kate to exert her limited supply of strength, but this morning, she felt, irrationally, as if it was a little easier, heartened by the thought of Castle.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Thank you to all readers and reviewers!


	26. Chapter 26

Author's Note: After the last few heavy, emotional chapters, this one is a more transitional, fun one. Enjoy.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 26_

When Castle returned that afternoon, it was immediately clear that he'd recovered all his usual insouciance.

Kate heard the sound of footsteps through the partially open door of her room and identified them as his—when had she started being able to recognize Castle's footsteps?—even before her door was pushed open to reveal Castle.

He looked happy, cheerful in a way that had her heart jumping because at that moment, he looked so much like the man she'd first gotten to know, the hyperactive man-child. "Good afternoon, Becketts," he greeted both her and her dad, a glint of mischief in his expression at the use of the plural. "Are you ready to bust out of this joint, Beckett?" he added, focusing on her.

Kate bit her lip to keep from smiling too widely. "Hi, Castle," was all she said with a calm she didn't feel. Yes, this was definitely Castle. She hadn't realized until then that she had missed this side of him, as odd as it sounded since it had once annoyed her so much. But she had missed his exuberance, his tendency to boyish excitement.

He really had changed, grown up, in the last two years and she couldn't deny that seeing the more serious side of him had made her feelings deeper—his understanding, his compassion, his caring. But she wanted all of him, all the different facets of this complicated man she'd come to know. The impulsive, playful man-child and the kind, thoughtful man.

Beside her, she heard her dad give a little cough that didn't quite disguise his chuckle. "You weren't kidding when you said he was very excitable," he commented as an aside, under his breath.

But, of course, Castle heard and laughed aloud. "Alexis says the same thing," he chimed in. "You really did talk about me two years ago, didn't you?"

It was her dad's turn to look somewhat less than comfortable. "Rick, I—"

Castle's expression became more sincere. "Don't worry about it, Jim. Kate's never been shy about telling me my irritating qualities," he added with a smirk at her.

"Not that you ever seemed to listen," she shot back.

"Nope, I'm impervious like that," he responded blithely. "Anyway, I brought you something." With that, he brought the hand he'd kept behind his back forward, presenting her with a gift bag.

She blinked at the bag. "You got me a gift?" She supposed she shouldn't really be so surprised except, well, she was surprised. Castle's generosity had ranged from the huge but secret gesture of paying a fortune for a chance at her mom's killer to the more mundane cups of coffee he'd taken to bringing her in the mornings but nothing else in between. They weren't in the habit of exchanging real gifts in gift bags.

"Just a little something to celebrate you getting out of the ICU."

"Oh. I wasn't expecting..."

"I know. That's why it's called a surprise," he told her as smugly as if he had personally invented the entire concept of surprises.

She rolled her eyes at him even as she sternly suppressed the urge to smile. Yes, he was definitely her cocky Castle again. (Wait, what—hers?) "I'm familiar with the concept," she informed him dryly as she accepted the gift bag, noting how light it was, her fingers delving into the tissue paper until she touched something soft and—furry? She pushed aside the tissue paper and pulled out a plush elephant. Oh.

It was an absurd gift—of course, it was—since she was a grown up and not someone who had cared for dolls or stuffed animals much as it was and certainly not for the last 20 years or so. It was absurd, ridiculous—and absurdly, ridiculously sweet. She felt her throat get tight with a stupid surge of emotion as she studied the elephant that might have been the most adorable thing she'd seen in years. Plush and gray, with big, floppy ears, black eyes, a softly curved trunk and—the final touch—a ribbon in her favorite shade of purple tied in a jaunty little bow around the elephant's neck. The ribbon was, she strongly suspected, Castle's addition; she hadn't realized he even knew what her favorite color was but somehow, it didn't surprise her. Of course he knew, this man who'd learned her precise coffee order and seemed to have an endless supply of curiosity about her.

"You got me an elephant," were the first words that escaped her mouth, inanely, and she hurriedly added, trying to sound more like her usual businesslike Detective Beckett persona in order to hide the rush of emotion she felt, "So are you saying you think I'm like a child, who needs a stuffed animal to feel better?"

"Now, Katie…" her dad began, a thread of faint admonishment entering his tone. One of his 'I'm still your dad' tones.

"Well, if you don't want it…" Castle drew the words out in a lazy drawl before moving as if to retrieve the gift.

Kate reacted automatically, clutching the soft plush tighter against her, her other hand pausing in petting the elephant's head. "No, it's mine."

Castle smirked, pleasure written all over his face. "I knew you'd like it, Beckett. You like elephants and this one is so cute not even you can resist."

"Stop looking so smug," she ordered, tried to order, although she suspected her tone came out sounding more fond than stern. "It's the elephant that's cute, not you."

"Impervious, remember?" he flipped back. "You don't fool me, Beckett, I know you like me."

"I'm rethinking my opinion of you right about now," she drawled, balling up some of the tissue paper and tossing it at him.

"This is a strange way of accepting a gift," her dad interjected, making them both turn to look at her dad and Kate flushed a little, realizing it had rather slipped her mind, that her dad was witnessing this display of their banter. Possibly not their finest moment. But her dad directed a pleased smile at her that also encompassed Castle. "But it seems to work for you and you understand each other."

Castle slanted a quick, soft glance at her before he faced her dad again. "I've always thought Kate was a mystery but I like to think we're getting better at understanding each other."

She remembered the way he'd called her a mystery he would never solve and remembered, too, his more recent prediction that they would be great together. Maybe… she wanted to believe it and as she looked down at the elephant again, smoothing a finger over the soft fur, she felt hope sprouting inside her. "Yeah, I think we're getting better," she echoed quietly, directing the words more to the plush elephant than to anyone else.

There was a brief moment of silence before her dad cleared his throat a little. "So, an elephant, Rick?"

"I figured Kate had to like elephants since she keeps a parade of elephant figurines on her desk at work."

The mention of the elephants on her desk made Kate look up to see the immediate understanding on her dad's face. "Oh," her dad said, so softly it was hardly audible. "Johanna's elephants."

Castle heard and she saw him stiffen, his expression immediately softening as it always did at any mention of her mom.

"I didn't know you kept them on your desk at work, Katie," her dad went on, trying to sound casual.

"I like seeing them," she managed. "They remind me of Mom." Those elephants were the only personal keepsake she kept out on her desk. Unlike almost everyone else, she'd never had personal pictures or other keepsakes on display, kept her desk as a space devoted to work, much like her life. But the elephants that had once graced her mom's desk were the exception.

She met Castle's eyes and realized they were both remembering that Castle had asked her about the elephants once, early on in their partnership. Another of his questions to try to learn more about her but at the time, she'd stone-walled his prying, distracting him by changing the subject to something else, what she couldn't remember now. And then she'd ordered him sternly to leave the elephants alone, giving him one of the rare looks that he'd tended to obey.

At the time, she hadn't wanted to tell Castle anything about her mom, distrusting his response, as if he would make light of it or otherwise not understand. But that had been then. She was suddenly struck again with how far they had come.

"She did love those figurines," her dad affirmed quietly, glancing away to compose himself, before he continued with an attempt at lightness, "I never did quite understand your mom's affinity for elephants."

Kate manufactured a teasing smile, pasting it on. "Maybe it's because elephants tend to be matriarchal."

Her dad mustered up a real smile at that. "Trust your mom to appreciate that."

"I guess that must be why elephants are considered to be so smart," Castle inserted mildly.

She threw Castle a smile at that. "Clearly, Martha's trained you well."

Her dad chuckled.

Castle made a face at her. "Don't tell my mother that. She doesn't need the encouragement. Besides, it's Alexis who's really trained me well."

"That, I can believe," she agreed.

"It's—" But whatever Castle had been about to say was lost as there was a knock on the door and a man in nurse's scrubs appeared.

"Miss Beckett? I'm Victor. Dr. Ogawa told me that you're to be transferred out of the ICU today. Are you ready to go?"

On her agreement, what ended up being a surprisingly easy process began. Kate had been wondering how she would be moved as she didn't have much confidence in her ability to get out of her bed or sit upright even in a wheelchair for long but as it happened, she wasn't required to do anything at all. Victor detached the morphine drip and then just moved the hospital gurney, leaving her dad and Castle to follow, Castle carrying the bouquets from him and the one from Evelyn Montgomery, which she'd decided to keep, while the other bouquets would be distributed among the other ICU patients.

The little procession moved down one floor to what she was informed was the surgical recovery ward and she was pleasantly surprised to discover that she would continue to have a private room. She hadn't realized the NYPD's insurance would cover a private hospital room for however long the rest of her hospital stay would be and had been trying not to feel apprehensive about the idea of sharing a room with a total stranger, a stranger whose presence would undoubtedly make any visits awkward.

"Well, this is nice," her dad commented, almost echoing her thoughts. "You even have a real window now, Katie. Oh, and you have your own personal bathroom and even a closet."

It was her first glimpse of the outdoors in a week, although given her position she couldn't see much, just a patch of bright blue sky. Like the day of Montgomery's funeral. She had an abrupt, searing flash of memory, of lying on her back in the grass, seeing the clear blue skies stretching above her as she bled out… She flinched, clamping her lips shut on what might have been a whimper, as her chest burned.

"Kate." Something soft nudged her hands, making her start a little, her eyes opening to see Castle. Oh. Her breath stuttered in her throat. Castle and, she realized belatedly, the plush elephant which he was using to nudge her hands. She closed her hands around the elephant, the softness of the fur somehow soothing her.

"Jim, where do you think the flowers should go?" Castle spoke up, making a show of bustling around the room to position the bouquets first on the small table and then to another stand by the door and then on the window sill, keeping up a running commentary on the relative merits of each spot and drawing her dad into the discussion.

He was distracting her dad, she realized, allowing her to recover some measure of calm while not worrying her dad, whose inspection of her new room's features had, thankfully, meant that he hadn't noticed her reaction to the window.

Castle's prattle about the bouquets, which ended in them being placed on the window sill, gave her just enough cover that when her dad turned to see what she thought of the placement of the flowers, she was able to muster up a smile for his benefit. She might still feel shaky inside and was making a point of keeping her eyes averted from the window but she could manage enough to keep from worrying her dad.

With Castle's help. Even once the bouquets were placed, Castle's distractions continued as he persuaded her dad to step outside of her new room to take note of the surroundings and to introduce themselves to the nurses on duty (reasoning that the personal attention would make the nurses that much more responsive to anything she might need, which was true enough that her dad readily agreed).

Yes, Castle was helping. Even more than she'd realized he would. She hadn't considered that his presence, as company and a distraction to her dad, would help so much. Giving her time and space where she could focus on herself without worrying about keeping up a good front for her dad.

Castle really did have her back, was acting as her partner, without a word or a look from her. As if he knew what she needed and would provide it, without hesitation. She looked down at the elephant, fingering one floppy ear. Such a silly gift, a plush animal, but so like him. Another sign of his generosity, his caring.

Castle and her dad were not gone for long but by the time they returned, she was feeling calmer, was able to smile without much effort and listen as they told her about the nurses they had met.

Unsurprisingly, Castle, with his charm and interest in people, had apparently managed to learn the potted life stories of the nurses in just a couple minutes. Esther, the head nurse, had worked at the hospital for 20 years now and had two kids, a son and a daughter, in high school now. Carlos, another nurse, had been at the hospital for 10 years, and he and his wife, a teacher, had a five-year-old daughter and a two-year-son, who ran them both ragged. Lastly was Leslie, the youngest of the three. (From a slight change in Castle's tone and the paucity of information about Leslie, Kate guessed that Leslie had shown indications of being susceptible to Castle's looks and charm so he had not talked to her beyond the bare introductions.)

The conversation was interrupted when a woman in a white doctor's coat came in after a brief knock, introducing herself as Dr. Gupta, who would be overseeing Kate's recovery going forward. Dr. Gupta questioned Kate as to how she felt in some detail and subjected her to some tests, all of which Kate duly responded to but never mentioned that she couldn't even see a scrap of blue sky without panicking like some lunatic.

Castle had tactfully made himself scarce during Dr. Gupta's visit and only returned after she'd left, promising (or warning) more thorough tests the next day. "Is everything okay?" he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes were concerned and Kate was aware that he was searching her expression.

"Fine," she answered with a small smile.

"Dr. Gupta said Katie's recovery is proceeding as well as can be expected," her dad added with more cheer than the news, or lack thereof, really warranted. But her dad was in the business of optimism these days, trying hard to pretend that he wasn't worried at all.

"That's good to know. Oh, Alexis was wondering if it would be okay for her to stop by and see you, Kate. Are you up for a visit?"

"Alexis wants to visit?"

"She said she wants to see how you are, now that you're out of the ICU. I think she's been worried but if you're not up for it or if it'll be a bother, that's fine. She'll understand," Castle hurriedly reassured.

She hadn't expected it but she managed a smile. She liked Alexis but more than that, she could see that this meant something to Castle too. "Of course she's welcome to visit. Besides," she added with studious innocence, "it's always nice to see little Castle; it's her dad who can be a pest."

Castle made a face at her. "What's sad is that you actually think you're funny," he pretended to lament.

"Says the man who spends half his time telling lame jokes," she needled, biting back a smirk. Giving Castle a hard time like this made her feel more like her usual self; it was oddly comforting.

He bridled in exaggerated offense. "My jokes are not lame! I'm famous for my humor and wit! It's part of my charm."

"Your charm, right. I think that's your ego talking," she drawled.

He huffed while her dad gave a cough that was a poor disguise for a chuckle.

"Are you two always like this?"

She glanced at Castle as they exchanged quick smiles. "Pretty much."

"I guess you must be feeling better if you can tease Rick like this," her dad observed smilingly.

"Well, he is easy to tease," she agreed only half-humorously.

Castle affected a sigh. "There she goes again. I hope Alexis hurries up. I think I need some back up here."

"Are you so sure Alexis will be on your side? From what I've heard from Katie, Alexis likes to tease you too," her dad interjected mildly and Kate glanced at him to see just a hint of mischief lurking around his mouth.

"Jim!" Castle's expression of exaggerated dismay made both her and her dad laugh and it occurred to her that her dad and Castle really had become friends. It was a little odd but also… nice. She couldn't quite explain why it seemed so significant but somehow, it did, that these two most important men in her life (oh god—because Castle really was one of them, wasn't he?) got along.

And in belated insight, it occurred to her that perhaps her dad had not wholeheartedly liked either Will or Tom, not that he'd ever said a negative word about either of them. Her dad had only met Tom once but he'd met Will several times when she and Will had been together and had been perfectly civil. Even after Will had left, her dad had not criticized Will outright; the closest he'd come was saying he thought Will might come to regret the choice he made. But now it occurred to her that her dad had never really laughed in either Will's or Tom's company, polite smiles and the occasional chuckle, yes, but not real laughter. Admittedly, neither Will nor Tom had been masters of humor but still.

Her dad asked after Martha and Castle regaled them with a story of the disastrous dinner where Martha had tried to convince a theatre critic to mention her acting school favorably in one of her columns, displaying the dramatic talent that he must have inherited from Martha.

Kate was content to lie back and watch the interplay between Castle and her dad, her eyes resting in turn on Castle's animated expression, the brightness of his eyes—yes, this was much more like the man she'd first met—and then on her dad's smiling face, noting that some of the lines worry had carved around his mouth had eased.

A knock on the door had Castle breaking off, mid-sentence, as the door opened to reveal Alexis's bright head. "Can I come in?"

Kate smiled at the girl, hoping to ease the trace of shyness in the girl's expression. "Hi, Alexis. It's nice of you to visit."

Castle leaped up to tug Alexis into a hug. "There you are, pumpkin."

"Hi, Dad, Mr. Beckett."

"Nice to see you again, Alexis," Jim greeted the girl.

"I brought dinner," Alexis offered. "It's just soup and sandwiches but I figured if I was going to visit, I could spare you another meal from the hospital cafeteria."

"That was thoughtful of you. Thank you," her dad smiled while Castle accepted the bag of food Alexis offered.

Alexis left Castle to set out the food and approached Kate, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Hi, Kate. How are you feeling?"

"I'm better, thanks, Alexis."

"I'm glad." Alexis hesitated and then asked, "Would it be okay if I hugged you?"

"Of course." There was the sweet girl Castle always talked about.

The teenager's expression brightened and she bent to give Kate a gentle hug, taking care not to put any pressure on Kate at all. It took some effort but Kate managed to lift her arms to return the hug, a little gingerly, patting the girl on the back. Lifting the arm on the side with the incision pulled the wound a little but she decided it was worth it to see the way the worry clouding the girl's eyes dissipated. As Alexis straightened up, Kate glanced up to meet Castle's eyes as he watched them with so much unguarded tenderness in his expression that she felt her heart flutter.

Kate tugged her eyes from Castle to see that Alexis's eyes had dropped down to the plush elephant, surprise and pleasure lighting the girl's face, especially now that her worry had been somewhat assuaged. "Oh, your elephant is so cute, Kate!"

"Your dad gave it to me," she informed Alexis.

Alexis relaxed into a brief chuckle. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me," she quipped, shooting Castle an impish look.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment to my taste," he informed his daughter with mock hauteur.

"I think the elephant needs a name," Kate inserted. "Why don't you come up with a name, Alexis?"

Castle slanted a look at her. "Are you sure that's wise? This is the same child who named her stuffed monkey Monkey Bunkey," he murmured not quite under his breath.

"Dad!" Alexis shot him an _et tu Bruté_ look, as she colored up to her hair.

Kate suppressed her laugh for Alexis's sake. "That's okay, Alexis. I don't pay attention to what he says. You should name the elephant."

Alexis studied the plush elephant for a moment, apparently taking on her new task with all the sense of responsibility and seriousness Castle was so proud of in her. "Dot," she pronounced.

Castle gave a badly disguised laugh that Kate ignored. "Dot," she repeated. "I think I like it but why Dot?"

"Because it's such a cute word to say and the elephant is so cute so it should have a cute name. Plus, I think 'dot' is a fun word to say, it makes me want to smile when I say it so I thought it would make you smile too."

Kate laughed a little at this explanation. "Spoken like your father's daughter. Dot it is," she agreed.

Now Alexis dimpled. "Thanks, Kate. Oh, you guys should eat. I don't want the soup to get cold."

"I hope you plan to stay and have dinner with us," Jim spoke up.

"Yes, stay, Alexis," Kate chimed in.

"Of course she's staying, right, pumpkin?" Castle draped an arm around Alexis's shoulders.

"I'll stay," Alexis agreed, briefly tipping her head to rest against Castle's shoulder.

Kate felt warmth swamp her heart at the sight, the way Castle's expression softened as it always did around Alexis, the kiss he dropped on her hair before releasing her.

Her dad, Castle, and Alexis sat in a half-circle of visitor chairs arranged around Kate's bed with Castle serving everyone, at his own insistence.

Kate wasn't sure if it had been by design but from what she knew of Alexis, was pretty sure it had been that Alexis had brought food that Kate could eat. The doctor had told her to slowly ease into eating solid foods again so she was able to join them in having a bowl of soup, although she declined a sandwich and nibbled a small piece of bread instead.

Alexis was the center of attention as first Kate's dad followed by Castle, asked about her classes and how her studying for her finals that started next week was going. The teen answered easily and was soon chatting freely about her studies and her friends, her usual, engaging self.

Kate had never seen her dad interact with Alexis before, although she could guess that her dad must have met Alexis during the hours everyone spent in the waiting room while Kate was in surgery. Certainly not ideal circumstances for an introduction but it was clear that despite the circumstances, Alexis had already succeeded in winning Jim Beckett over.

Aside from the occasional comment or question, Castle too largely left Alexis and her dad to carry on the bulk of the conversation, watching Alexis with affectionate pride written over his expression. He glanced over to meet Kate's eyes and his expression brightened as he shot her a quick smile, made more personal by the softness of his eyes.

The brief exchange of smiles was all as Castle smoothly turned his attention back to his daughter but somehow, it still left Kate with warmth and hope lingering in her chest. She wasn't quite sure why but it seemed like a hopeful sign that her dad apparently liked Castle's daughter too.

Once they were done eating, Alexis started to take her leave, citing the need to study for her finals, giving Castle a quick hug.

The girl bent to give Kate another cautious hug, lingering for just a moment as she whispered, "I'm really happy for you and Dad, Kate. I know Dad's really missed you."

Kate tried not to stiffen as she darted a look at Castle. Oh, he'd told Alexis about, well, them, their relationship. She wasn't sure why that surprised her. And Alexis was happy about it? Which was good, but also surprising. She had somehow expected that Alexis would think Castle could do better or something, find someone who hadn't hurt him more than once.

Alexis straightened up, adding in her usual voice, "I'm glad you're feeling better, Kate. Grams and I were worried about you."

Kate managed a smile. "Say hello to Martha and thank her for thinking about me."

"I will."

"Good luck on your finals, Alexis."

"Thanks, Kate."

The girl turned to Jim. "It was nice talking to you, Mr. Beckett."

"Likewise, Alexis, but actually, why don't I walk out with you? It's probably about time I head home too. I'm sure Katie's tired of me by now," he added humorously.

"Dad!" Kate exclaimed. "You know that's not true."

Her dad only smiled as he bent to kiss Kate's cheek. "I know you're in good hands with Rick here so I might as well head home and get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"If you're sure, Dad."

"Pumpkin, you used the car service, right?" Castle asked Alexis quietly and at Alexis's assent, raised his voice to interject, "If you're set on leaving now, Jim, why don't you share the car with Alexis? The driver can just as easily drop you off at your place as well as taking Alexis home."

Her dad demurred but was persuaded into agreeing. Alexis chimed in to second the invitation, Kate spoke up to accept the invitation on her dad's behalf (more because she was starting to realize that Castle truly liked being able to do things like this for people he cared about), and Castle insisted it was absolutely no trouble and he wouldn't take no for an answer.

With that settled, Castle then volunteered to walk them both out, explaining he would just have a word with the driver so Jim could be assured it was really no trouble, only pausing to assure Kate quickly that he would be right back.

So in the span of just a few minutes, the room that had been cheerful and positively bustling with conversation and life was reduced to quiet and Kate was alone again. But not for long, of course, as Castle would no doubt return shortly.

Now that her dad was gone, Kate let her head fall back onto the bed, her eyes closing, acknowledging that she was tired. It was ridiculous, how tired she became just from having done little more strenuous than staying awake all day, but somehow, she was. She'd tried to hide it but it occurred to her that her dad might have noticed or guessed anyway and hastened his departure for that reason.

Well, Castle would be back and she could relax with him. She wasn't sure exactly when Castle had become such a comforting presence but somehow, he was.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you to all readers and reviewers.


	27. Chapter 27

Author's Note: A somewhat shorter chapter in which Castle and Beckett talk some more. Enjoy!

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 27_

Castle returned in just a few minutes and Kate, recognizing the sound of his steps, opened her eyes to greet him with a small smile.

"Your dad said to tell you to get some sleep and he'll be back around 9 tomorrow morning."

Which was, Kate knew, her dad's tacit apology for interrupting them that morning and giving them both a little heads up so it wouldn't happen again tomorrow and, judging from his expression, Castle knew it too.

"Don't look like that, Castle. You know my dad likes you."

Castle widened his eyes at her in exaggerated innocence. "I'm not looking like anything. That's just my ruggedly handsome face."

She rolled her eyes, sternly hiding a smile. "I guarantee that my dad has never once thought you were ruggedly handsome," she returned dryly.

He made a face at her and she smirked.

"That aside," she added, taking some pity on him, "my dad was certainly impressed by Alexis."

He huffed in mock offense. "Alexis has my charm and my brains and your dad's not blind so of course he would be impressed."

"Uh huh, sure," she drawled before continuing more carefully, "I didn't realize that you'd told Alexis about us."

Us—the one word seemed to make Castle's entire expression illuminate and her heart pinched a little. He was so happy and she was reminded, again, of how much power she had over him, how vulnerable he was where she was concerned. It was a frightening, humbling, overwhelming thing. Kate was too conscious of her own vulnerability where Castle was concerned not to be fully aware of the enormity of knowing that Castle trusted her so much, trusted her with his heart. And she could only promise herself and him that she would keep that trust.

"I didn't, really, not in so many words," Castle responded after a moment. "I didn't really have time since I saw her only in passing this morning before she left for school but I guess Alexis must have noticed I was happy and, well, she knows me well enough to put two and two together."

Which meant that Alexis knew how Castle felt about her.

"What did Alexis say to you?"

"She said she was happy for us and that you missed me."

"Ah. Alexis has been tattle-telling, I see," Castle murmured, briefly glancing away and then back at her. "Well, Alexis is right, as usual. I did miss you."

A smile curved her lips. "Really?"

"It's like I told you before, you're a hard person to miss, Beckett. It's like you got under my skin or in my veins. And what made it worse was that I knew it was my own fault for prying."

"Castle, no, you apologized and I forgave you. We don't have to talk about this again." She hadn't meant to bring up all these old wounds.

He gave her a wry half-smile. "I think we've had enough not-talking to each other and should talk to each other more."

He had a point. All their not-talking had gotten them into trouble before. But it was her turn to grimace. "I'm not good at talking." Inane thing to say but she knew Castle would understand.

"You'll get better. I know you will. For now, you can just listen."

He sounded so sure, so confident in her ability to improve. And something in his expression told her what he was about to say mattered to him. "Okay."

"I shouldn't have looked into your mom's case without your permission. Your mom's case is understandably personal for you and it wasn't my place to meddle."

She couldn't quite stay silent at that. "Castle, we did talk about this. I understand and it's all right. And what you did, what you found, led us to Dick Coonan. You managed what I couldn't do with all the time I spent looking into the case."

"It doesn't make what I did right. And I don't think I've told you what it means to me that you forgave me," he paused and added with a faint quirk of his lips, "and what it means to me that you kicked me out in the first place."

She blinked. That was unexpected. "What?"

His lips twitched before he sobered, reaching out to grasp one of her hands, his thumb tracing idle circles over her skin, as he went on. "As you might have heard, I'm really rich and moderately famous."

She managed a faint smile. "Yes, I think I've heard that."

"Which is nice but it's also the reason I was able to get away with being a jackass for so long. You can get away with a lot when you're rich and famous because people don't call you out for behaving like a jerk." He paused and then added, lifting his free hand to touch her cheek for a moment, "Until you, Kate Beckett."

She leaned into the caress. She understood now. He had alluded to it before when talking about people taking advantage of him but it wasn't only that. It was about honesty, or the lack thereof, since what he meant was that people were not often honest with him.

"You didn't let me get away with my own bad behavior. And that means a lot." His lips twisted wryly. "I'll admit it took me a little time after you kicked me out to realize it but I got there eventually. It did me good, made me realize I wanted to be better, someone who could earn your forgiveness, someone you would like."

Hearing him say that somehow strengthened her conviction almost of the opposite, that he hadn't needed to change much at all. The kind of father and son he was, his generosity—even his looking into her mom's case had, at base, been motivated by wanting to help her—his character was established long before he'd met her. "You're a good man, you know. You didn't need me for that."

He didn't smirk or even smile at the compliment; he looked humble, the way he had when she'd told him he was a good dad. "Thank you, but I am better because of you."

A smile trembled on her lips. "I think I'm better because of you too," she managed unevenly. He made her want to be better, made her want to be… more like Nikki Heat, more like the amazing person he saw her as.

"Kate…" He surged forward to kiss her gently and all too briefly before he sat back down.

There was a pause and then he cleared his throat, blinking rather adorably (yes, fine, adorably) as if he needed to clear his thoughts.

"Anyway, what I started to say was, that was why I missed you, that you were honest with me. And I missed working with you, missed going into the precinct. I even missed the boys but don't tell them I said so."

She managed a teasing smile, although it wasn't what she felt. "Yeah, well, too bad for you but the boys are taken. Ryan's engaged and Espo's with Lanie."

"Really?" His eyes lit with interest and some glee, neatly distracted. "I thought I noticed some vibes between Espo and Lanie when we were all in the waiting room but I didn't know it was a confirmed fact! How long has that been going on?"

Of course, Castle the eternally curious would have to know more. "January at least, as far as I know. Lanie plays things close to the vest and she insisted for weeks it was totally casual."

"Friends with benefits?" Castle filled in with a little wriggle of his eyebrows.

"Something like that. Lanie hasn't said anything different to me lately but I know they've been spending more time together."

"Detecting, Detective?" he quipped.

"If you want to call it that. I had to call Espo to a crime scene really early one morning and I heard Lanie's voice in the background so I know they were together." She wrinkled her nose at the memory. There were some aspects of Espo's life she would have preferred to remain ignorant about.

"Well, well, Espo and Lanie. Espo and Lanie," he repeated absently and she recognized the abstraction in his expression that meant his distractible brain had been sidetracked, waiting for his mouth to catch up and spill. "Hey, we can call them 'Esplanie,' as their couple name," he all but bounced. "It's perfect because they both explain things to help solve cases. Now, more importantly, what should our couple name be?

She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. Yup, definitely Castle. "Have I ever mentioned that I think portmanteau couple names are silly?" she commented.

Predictably enough, Castle was undeterred. "Beck-le," he suggested aloud and then made a face. "No, that's terrible. Kat-ick. Better but not quite right. Ooh, I have it! Cas-kett! Get it? Castle and Beckett and casket as in for dead people!"

There was probably something wrong about sounding so gleeful in saying the words 'dead people.' But she couldn't help but smile because he was so, well, cute when he got so excited. Especially over something so ridiculous. (Oh, she really did have it bad.)

"Ha, you smiled!" he announced, as triumphantly as if making her smile was an achievement on par with winning an Olympic gold medal. "Caskett! It's perfect; I knew you'd agree. Sometimes my brilliance surprises even me."

Now she had to snort. "I wasn't smiling at your so-called brilliance, Castle."

He faked shock. "You weren't?"

Some part of her couldn't quite believe she was going to tell him this but it appeared to be too late to hide things now. "If you must know, I was smiling because you got so excited and it's... cute."

"Re-eally?" he drew the word out with what was possibly one of the cockiest smirks ever to grace a human face. "Did Detective Kate Beckett admit she thinks I'm cute?"

Yeah, she was never going to live this down. She felt herself flush hotly, although (strangely) she couldn't seem to bring herself to regret having told him. "Anyway," she blurted out a little too loudly, "you were talking about how you missed going into the precinct."

"I did miss going into the precinct," he agreed, although he shot her a look that told her what she already knew, that she hadn't heard the last of her confession. He paused, collecting his thoughts again after the long digression, his expression sobering. "Working with you meant—_means_—a lot to me. Helping you solve cases, the work we did, it means a lot although it took me awhile to understand that. But—" his lips twisted a little, "as the saying goes, you don't know what you have until you lose it."

The words registered with a pang. Yes, it was true. She hadn't realized what she had until she'd lost it, lost him. Hadn't realized how much she'd come to enjoy working with him, how much his theories, as crazy as they were, had challenged her to think outside the box. She, who prided herself on always approaching every case and every crime scene with fresh eyes, never allowing a murder to become another statistic to her, had started to lose some of that before Castle came along. It happened with experience; there was a reason so many cops became jaded because they did tend to see a lot of the same sordid stories. Castle had pushed her to think more creatively and more than that, he had made her work more fun. And fun was in short supply in her life.

Plus she'd been so determined not to give in to the charm he had in abundance, determined never to be another notch on his bedpost, that she hadn't acknowledged any of the signs that he might be more than the jackass playboy and then his looking into her mom's case had been the impetus for her to get rid of the thorn in her side, as she'd persisted in thinking of him.

Only for her to realize too late that she might have just cut off her nose to spite her face.

She mentally shook off her regret, focusing on him. She had a second chance; Castle was back and—she was starting to believe—he wasn't going anywhere. "I missed working with you too," she admitted, not very smoothly. She felt a flare of panic at making such an admission and blurted out, "Well, not your crazy theories." The words were out before she'd thought and then she could have kicked herself. She'd done it again, deflecting. It was just instinctive, it seemed, after so many years of not letting people in. But she'd promised herself she'd do better. She inwardly steeled herself. "I missed you." Her eyes dropped away from his—saying the words was one thing but apparently meeting his eyes, letting him read her expression, was another.

"Well, you know what, Beckett," he began after a moment, his tone carefully light, "I think you're stuck with me. I'm like a bad penny you can't get rid of."

Oh, this man. He really had learned how and when not to push, let her recover after such an admission that didn't come easily for her.

"I guess I'll just have to get used to having you around," she managed.

"I guess you will." He paused and then went on, his tone becoming serious again, thoughtful. "I've had a lot of time to think about what I liked so much about working with you and it had nothing to do with Nikki Heat or even because I liked spending time with you. Although as you might have guessed, I do like spending time with you," he added with a brief glimmer of one of his flirtatious looks.

Her lips curved a little, almost in spite of herself. "I had a hunch."

"Being at the precinct, it felt like I was actually making a difference, doing some real good to help people for once. It was… a good feeling, I liked it. As you've pointed out to me, I make things up for a living."

She felt a stab of guilt. She had said something of that sort to him early on but she'd been needling him, hadn't meant it as a serious disparagement. "Castle, I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't," he cut her off. "But you were right. I write fiction and yes, I like to think I'm pretty good at it and there is value to entertaining people but it's not exactly the same as what you do, getting justice for murder victims, saving people." A rueful smile appeared. "I liked feeling useful, like I helped."

What had he said, to that Cosmo reporter who'd interviewed her for that puff piece about Heat Wave just before she'd kicked him out for good? That he'd been instrumental in helping them solve some of their toughest cases? At the time, she'd been annoyed at what she'd viewed as his usual bragging but it occurred to her now that the boast revealed insecurity, reflecting wishful thinking of a sort. He'd said it because he'd wanted it to be true. He really did value the work they had done. She had assumed he viewed it as a game of sorts, playing cop, but not taking it seriously, but that wasn't true.

"You did help, but Castle, what you do, your writing, your books, they make a difference too. It might be entertainment but you know who else was in the business of entertaining people? Shakespeare. Dickens, the Bronte sisters, Virginia Woolf. And I don't think you can claim they didn't make a difference. For example, after Dickens published _A Christmas Carol_, charitable giving skyrocketed."

He gave a wry twist of his lips. "Even I wouldn't put my books on the same level as works of Shakespeare or Dickens."

"Maybe not but don't belittle the importance of entertaining people. I deal with reality every day, reality that's often ugly or painful or boring. Giving people something that will take their mind off of reality, distract them, matters and studies show that reading fiction fosters empathy, which is something I think we can both agree the world needs more of."

"Have you been talking to my mother? She delivers quite a speech when someone dares question the value of theatre."

She blew out a breath of some frustration. Stubborn man. This must have been festering inside him for a long time, since she had kicked him out probably. It wasn't as if she'd been very willing to admit that he had helped them. She'd spent most of their time mocking him and her teasing had never seemed to have much of an effect on him. She'd never even imagined that Richard Castle, the cocky celebrity, could feel insecure about what he did. Why hadn't it occurred to her that his cockiness might be a shield to hide his insecurities, much like she used her Detective Beckett persona to hide her own?

She could think of one subject that was guaranteed to make him listen, would convince him. If she could bring herself to talk about it.

She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. He was smiling slightly, the rather ironic way he often smiled when he spoke of Martha's dramatic excesses, but she could see that the amusement didn't reach his eyes. She made up her mind. This bothered him and making him feel better was more important than her own comfort.

"After my mom died," she began, her voice very low and not quite steady.

She felt him jerk, his hand tightening convulsively around hers, sensed his abruptly-focused gaze on her, but she could not meet his eyes right now.

"I was… it was a bad time for me," she managed in severe understatement about the worst weeks and months of her life. "My dad was… struggling. Detective Raglan had told us he was writing the case off as random gang violence so I knew… he wasn't even trying anymore."

"Kate…" he breathed, sounding shaken.

"Then I found these books and read them, every one I could find. And they helped. Because in these books, killers were caught, murder victims got justice. The sleuths never gave up, no matter how hard the case seemed. They never wrote off a case as a 'random wayward event,' because they were too lazy or didn't care enough to investigate. The books… gave me hope, inspired me. They showed that justice for victims was important."

Up until now, she'd carefully spoken about the books in general terms so he might know she was talking about mysteries—the genre that focused on identifying killers—but nothing specific. Now she released a shaky breath and made herself meet his eyes. Listening to her with that focused intensity that was so characteristic of him, as if at this moment she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

"And no matter how little evidence there seemed to be or how many years had gone by, the sleuths like Avery Mattheson, Cadmon Felse, or Derrick Storm never stopped trying to find out the truth."

The names of his characters made him give an odd sound, like a combination of a choke and a gasp, as he realized she was talking about his books. Characters she'd named deliberately—Avery Mattheson from _At Dusk We Die_ who'd stumbled upon a dead body but when she'd returned from calling the police, found the body had disappeared and no one inclined to believe her story so first she'd needed to prove a murder had actually occurred at all; Cadmon Felse from _A Skull in Springtime_ where the only evidence at first was finding a skull with no visible head injury and no other way to identify the victim of what had ended up being a decade-old crime; and of course Derrick Storm, solving a murder after finding the murder weapon in a casket but no body, among his other exploits.

"Rick, your books do make a difference. They comforted me, gave me a purpose. They… saved me."

He blinked at her for a long moment and then gave a shaky sigh. "Kate, I… I don't know what to say."

She managed a small smile. "And here I thought you were a writer, a word smith."

He huffed a laugh and then surged forward to kiss her with enough passion that her brain went immediately blank.

She leaned towards him, both her hands lifting to touch him—only for a sharp tug of pain on her side to surprise a gasp from her, breaking off the kiss and effectively shattering the atmosphere of intimacy that had settled over them. Ow, damn it! She hated this so much, hated not being able to make any incautious movements, hated that she couldn't even lift her arms up without pain.

"Kate! Are you okay? Can I do anything, call someone? I'm sorry, so sorry. I forgot and I—"

"It's okay," she cut off his frantic litany, mustering up a pale smile of reassurance. "It was my fault. Don't apologize. Besides," she added, trying to sound teasing, "it was worth it."

A sound that was almost the beginnings of a laugh escaped him and he cupped her cheek in his hand, leaning in to press his lips tenderly to her forehead. "You are amazing, you know that." He sat back down. "But I think that's a sign we should take a rain check on talking more."

She grimaced but couldn't exactly deny it. "You might be right. I am a little tired," she admitted. "You don't have to stay overnight though. I have it on good authority that I'm no longer in critical condition."

He shrugged. "I don't have anywhere else to be. Anyway, I was hoping you'd invite me into your bed again," he finished with a reasonable facsimile of one of his old leers.

She sternly controlled the twitch of her lips. "Now, why would I want to do that?" she drawled.

"Because I make a nice pillow?" he suggested.

She pretended to study him. "Well, you do put me to sleep."

He shot her a mock scowl and she smirked, letting the silence drag for a couple seconds before she agreed—as they'd both already known she would—with a show of reluctance. "If you insist, just because I'm nice and that chair looks uncomfortable."

This little comedy enacted, he did join her in the bed, squeezing in beside her as she nestled against him, her head finding the little hollow of his shoulder with as much ease as if they'd been sharing a bed for weeks and not just one night.

"Rest, Kate. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Mm, 'kay," she mumbled, letting her eyes close. And before too long, she did fall asleep on him, again.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you to all readers and reviewers.


	28. Chapter 28

Author's Note: Apologies for not being able to post last week but RL got in the way. Now, without further ado, here's the next chapter.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 28_

For the first time in a week, Castle left the hospital to return home before Jim Beckett arrived for the day shift. He wanted to talk to Alexis before she left for school. He'd become aware yesterday with a little pang of guilt that what with spending so much time in the hospital lately, he had not talked to Alexis as much as he normally did. And while he was reasonably confident that Alexis was fine and would still have come to him if anything was bothering her, seeming distant or unavailable to his daughter was not something he could tolerate.

Even so, he was conscious of a tug of conflicting wishes which, he supposed, was something he might need to accustom himself to. Alexis had been his sole priority for so long but now, there was Beckett. He would need to learn to juggle priorities when necessary. Not that Beckett would ever ask him to put her above Alexis. Even today, he hadn't left the hospital without assuring Beckett he'd be back later and her response had been to all but shoo him out of her room to go talk to Alexis.

He smiled at the memory. She was sounding more like her usual self, the Beckett he knew and, yes, loved. Flashes of her usual bossiness were appearing and she had certainly recovered her sardonic humor. He knew there was still a long road ahead of her, how quickly she tired and the pain she still felt whenever she made some wrong movement were glaring evidence of that. But still, he felt a surge of hope and happiness, although he admitted it had less to do with the improvement in her physical condition than it did the improvement in their relationship.

Their relationship! He might never tire of that phrase. They had a relationship, a real one. They were dating (odd as that somehow sounded), were together (yes, he liked the sound of that), were an 'us' (that sounded good too), were a couple (ooh, yes, that too). Kissing partners—now, he was starting to sound ridiculous. He made a mental note to mention the term to Beckett later, if only to see her roll her eyes and mock him, because she definitely would. That wasn't too weird, to like her rolling her eyes at him, was it?

Alexis was perched on a stool at the kitchen island, perusing the newspaper while she ate her breakfast. And as he'd confidently expected, his mother was nowhere in sight since his mother was rarely awake at this hour unless she was doing a walk of shame (he inwardly shuddered).

"Good morning, pumpkin."

Alexis swivelled around. "Dad! You're home early this morning!"

"I thought I'd catch you before you leave for school." He gave her a one-armed hug, dropping a kiss on her hair. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Fine." Alexis briefly tipped her head to nestle against him in one of her characteristic little gestures that never failed to make his chest feel tight with love.

"Good." He squeezed her shoulders before releasing her, moving around the island to start the coffee machine. Leaving the machine to do its work, he leaned against the island directly across from Alexis, waiting for her to look up and meet his eyes, rather inquiringly. "I wanted to talk to you about Beckett," he began, not entirely smoothly. "We've been talking…" He hesitated, wondering how best to phrase this news. Talking about his personal life with Alexis was never easy and seemed to get even harder as she grew older. He missed the days when Alexis had been too young to know anything about sex.

"I think you've been doing more than just talk," she quipped, shooting him an impish smirk.

"Alexis!"

She made a face, wrinkling her nose. "Ew, Dad, I meant kissing, that's all. Besides, Kate's in the hospital." She gave a little shudder. "Eww, don't be gross."

He laughed in spite of himself and his own discomfiture. "Okay, sorry, pumpkin. But anyway, yes, Beckett and I have decided to give being in a relationship a try."

Alexis gave him a mild version of one of her 'silly Dad' looks. "I know that, Dad."

He gave a faint smile. "I figured but I thought I should make it official, as it were. How'd you guess?"

"It was pretty obvious. You've been spending all your time at the hospital and when you came home yesterday, you looked so happy and I knew it had to be because of Kate." Her gaze momentarily dropped, as did her voice. "You looked happier than you've looked in a long time."

He could no more have kept from beaming at the thought of Beckett and the progress of their relationship over the last couple days than he could have sprouted wings. "It's been a good couple days," he agreed. "And you're okay with this?"

Alexis looked back up at him and smiled. "I'm happy you're happy. And you know I like Kate." She paused and then added with a touch of diffidence, "I think she really likes you, Dad. I could see it in the way she looked at you yesterday."

After the last couple days, he hardly needed the reassurance but it was still a precious affirmation. Yes, he knew Beckett cared about him, trusted him. And his hope that she could love him, might one day love him even as much as he already loved her, was starting to take tentative root and grow in his heart. "Thank you, sweetie." He paused and then went on, trying to cautiously and subtly probe. "I know I haven't spent a lot of time at home lately and that probably won't change much going forward under the circumstances. I just want to make sure you know that you can still talk to me about anything. If you need me, you can always call and I'll be here. Me being with Beckett won't change that."

"I know that, Dad. I understand that you need to spend a lot of time at the hospital with Kate."

Alexis's words were sincere, he could tell, and she offered him a small, reassuring smile but something like worry flickered across her face and she momentarily ducked her face, her eyes dropping.

He reached out to touch his fingers to her chin, nudging her face up so she had to meet his eyes again. "What is it, pumpkin?"

"It's nothing, Dad, really. I like Kate and I really am happy for you guys."

Which was sincere enough but he could still see hints of something else that wasn't unadulterated happiness in her eyes. "Alexis, I know there's something. Come on, talk to me," he prodded gently.

She hesitated for a moment, her gaze wavering before his, before she met his eyes again. "It's just… are you sure it's safe? After what happened to Captain Montgomery and then to Kate… And then when you go back to working with her in the precinct, I just… I'm worried."

He opened his mouth to assure her he would be fine, that nothing would happen to him, but stopped the automatic reassurance because he couldn't promise that and he tried never to make any promises he couldn't keep.

He should have wondered more about how Alexis would cope with the trauma of knowing someone she knew be shot, two someones with Captain Montgomery and Beckett. He remembered Agent Shaw's assurance that the FBI would be keeping an eye on them as the investigation into Bracken continued and the private security he'd arranged for was still on duty and would remain so until the Bracken investigation was over but he wasn't sure how much, if anything, about the new developments in the Johanna Beckett case he could or should mention to Alexis, who knew nothing about any of it and who he tried so hard to shield from this sort of knowledge. And then again, of course it was true that being a cop did entail a certain amount of danger.

It gave him a moment's pause because the worry of what would happen to Alexis if anything happened to him had been a constant fear pretty much since the day Alexis was born and it got much worse after Meredith left. He trusted his mother and was thankful for her presence, especially since she'd moved into the loft, but he and his mother were very different in their parenting views.

His eyes rested tenderly on his daughter's face and whereas he was usually struck these days with how quickly she was growing up, at this moment, all he could think was that she was still so young, still his baby girl.

He suddenly thought of Montgomery's kids, his son who was just a few years older than Alexis, his daughters who were even younger than Alexis. But Rob, Becca, and Mary had each other and they had Evelyn, who was a loving, capable mother. And they would have him as a friend to look out for them, reminding himself of his promise to the Captain.

Unlike Alexis, who would basically be alone if anything happened to him, with the sole exception of his mother.

But reassuring Alexis as best he could came first. He suppressed a sigh, his heart twisting. "I will be as careful as I can be," he promised. "No one is ever completely safe, you know that, the best we can do is take precautions to minimize the risk." He lifted a hand to cup her cheek. "Beckett isn't someone who takes unnecessary risks and she is very good at her job, as you know. And I will be careful, I promise. Okay, sweetheart?"

His serious little girl studied his face for a moment and then nodded. "Okay." She paused. "Working with Kate is that important to you?"

"It really is. It's not just about playing cop." He hesitated and then added with a faint rueful smile, "It might have started out like that, I admit, but it became a lot more. As surprising as it might seem, I like to think I've grown up a little." He had already realized how much working with her meant to him, as he'd told Kate, but this conversation with Alexis was underlining his conviction. He might be reckless and impulsive—he certainly had been—but not even he would put Alexis at risk of losing the one responsible parent she had, if it was only about playing cop. And after what had happened to Montgomery and to Beckett, he was under no illusions as to the risk involved in working with Beckett.

"I think I understand. Hey, Dad?"

"Hmm?"

Alexis gave him a small smile. "Don't grow up too much, okay?"

He huffed a laugh, chucking her chin gently. "This is me we're talking about, remember?" he assured her lightly and ungrammatically.

His daughter flashed him a real smile at that, sliding off her stool and moving around the island to throw her arms around him. "I really am happy for you and Kate, Dad."

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Thank you, pumpkin. You know I love you, right?"

"I know that, Dad." He could hear a roll of her eyes in her tone. Oh, how he missed not having a teenager. But then Alexis rose up on her toes to buss his cheek. "I love you too." Yeah, she was still his sweet little girl. "Oh, I need to leave for school or I'll be late."

He barely had time to catch his breath before she had slipped out of his arms, gathered up her things, and was gone with a wave and a smile and a "See you later, Dad."

Left alone, he stared at the detritus of Alexis's breakfast left on the island and sighed a little. He felt a sharp stab of wistfulness for the years when she'd been too young to leave the house alone, when he'd been her constant companion. And now, his little girl was planning to leave for college in less than a year and he would be alone.

No, not alone, he would be with Beckett. The reminder, the thought, pushed aside his melancholy, replaced by a spurt of happiness and hope.

He cleaned up Alexis's breakfast briskly and had his own breakfast and coffee before retreating to his office. For the first time since the awful day of Captain Montgomery's funeral, he felt energized, even eager, to write again.

His eyes found the shelf full of his books, remembering what Beckett had said, feeling the impact of her words all over again. Incredible and humbling, to think that his books could really have meant so much to her, done so much for her. Knowing her, he thought she might be giving his books more credit than they really deserved; Kate Beckett was not one who would have sunk under the weight of grief and hopelessness for long but if his books had helped, even a little, that was more than enough for him. It was strange, to think his books could have inspired her in some way when she inspired him so much.

Oh, he could write again. Would never stop writing, as he had once or twice feared he might have to in this last year of writer's block. But now he knew, knew what his books could mean.

He opened up the outline for the next Nikki Heat and went to work, words and ideas once again bubbling up in his mind.

* * *

Castle returned to the hospital that evening, bringing food for dinner. He and Alexis had cooked together but then Alexis had been the one to tell him he shouldn't stay to eat dinner at home with her and his mother but should instead take enough food for three to the hospital and eat with Kate and Jim. His mother had readily concurred so Castle had practically been pushed out of his own home by his family. Which was a ridiculous thing to feel so happy about but under the circumstances, he was delighted. His family was fully supportive of his being with Kate and not for the first time, it occurred to Castle that no matter what else, he was so lucky in his family.

And perhaps, one day, he could include Kate as part of his family, officially. Kate and, yes, Jim too.

With such hopeful musings, Castle made his way through the hospital cheerfully, smiling easily at everyone he passed, greeting the nurses he already knew by name.

But then his smile fell off his face in an instant as he stepped into Beckett's room.

She was asleep but one look at Jim Beckett's face, his quick gesture putting a finger to his lips, had a stab of panic going through Castle. His eyes flew immediately back to Beckett, focusing more intently this time, and saw she didn't look relaxed, even in sleep, faint lines of strain in her expression. He couldn't even take any small comfort in the fact that her hands were clasped tightly around Dot the elephant.

Castle moved carefully, hardly daring to breathe, to join Jim in the other visitor chair, quietly setting the bag of food down. "What's wrong? What happened?" he asked, forcing his voice to be so low it was barely above a breath even when he rather wanted to shout. Oh god, had she suffered a setback? Why hadn't Jim called him?

Jim's lips twitched into what was probably intended to be a reassuring little smile but didn't quite make it. The man looked almost drawn and Castle realized with another sharp pang just how much of an effort Jim had been making over the last few days to hide how worried he was, putting on a show of optimism. "Nothing really happened, Rick. Sorry to scare you. Dr. Gupta was trying to measure Katie's progress through various tests, exercises." He paused. "You know Katie, she doesn't do half-measures."

"She pushed herself too hard," he finished, almost soundlessly. Of course she had. What he didn't say aloud was that in the process, Beckett must have hurt herself, must have been in pain. And from what he knew of Beckett's stoicism, her pain had probably been what anyone else would have called excruciating agony. Oh god, Beckett… He felt as if his heart had plummeted into the pit of his stomach.

Jim tried again for a smile but it came out looking like more of a wince. "Dr. Gupta assured us it was only to be expected and Katie didn't do anything to set her recovery back noticeably. In these early days especially, the doctor insists it will often feel like it's one step forward, two steps back, and today was just an example of that."

Even whispering, Jim was trying hard to sound confident but Castle could see it was still a matter of trying to convince himself as well as Castle. Reason and logic were all very well but a parent's worry was a stubborn thing.

Castle knew his role here. He pasted on the most confident expression he could manage, infused it into his tone too. "Of course Dr. Gupta is right. She's an expert in all this and from what I know of any illness, recovery isn't a straight linear progression so it often feels as if you get worse before you get better. I'm sure Kate just needs to rest." He forcibly stopped himself before he could run on and say something about Kate being as right as rain in no time or some such cliché because that would be overselling it and if he'd learned anything from his mother about acting any role, it was not to oversell.

Jim looked marginally reassured by Castle's confidence. "Right, of course. The doctor said something very similar and she does know best."

"I brought dinner," Castle hurried to change the subject, hoping the distraction would help. "We should let Kate sleep but she wouldn't want us to let the food get cold." That, at least, was very true so he didn't need to try to sound certain of it.

"You're right, Rick," Jim agreed, managing a pale smile. "I am hungry so thank you for bringing dinner."

"No thanks necessary. After all, I need to eat too." He kept his expression as bland and easy as possible as he handed Jim a napkin and utensils.

He and Jim ate mostly in silence, although they each made an effort at the occasional desultory remark, carefully keeping their voices low so as not to wake Beckett. And Castle was sure they both paid more attention to Beckett, even asleep in the bed, than they did to the actual food. He certainly did, attuned to her every breath, her slightest movement.

Jim lingered, hovering over the bed, after they finished eating but after a while, Castle managed to persuade him to leave and get some rest. The older man looked haggard and Castle felt his heart twist with compassion, knowing from experience just how hard it was to see one's child hurting. Castle sent another round of thanks to the fates or whatever higher powers that Alexis had generally been a healthy child because even the few times she had been sick had nearly brought him to his knees. Jim was not easily persuaded but Castle played shamelessly on what Kate would wish and Jim did eventually relent, although Castle guessed it was due less to his own persuasive ability than to the fact that Jim knew very well Kate would be on Castle's side in urging Jim to get some rest.

Left alone, Castle attempted to busy himself with a book with little success since his constant glances at Beckett disrupted his concentration and he gave up the attempt before too long, settling in to watch Beckett sleep instead. Creepy staring, her voice in his head inserted, and his lips twitched a little. Oh, how he loved Beckett's wit and snark.

Jim had not been gone for very long when Castle heard the sound of wheels accompanied by a little rattling followed by a quick, perfunctory knock on the door that was immediately opened by a young hospital orderly. "Dinner," he announced automatically.

Castle leaped to his feet with a quick shake of his head and a finger to his lips and the young man nodded and backed out of the room but in doing so, he accidentally bumped against the cart bearing covered meal trays, pushing the cart into the wall. The resulting collision and loud rattle of trays made him wince apologetically at Castle as he hurriedly left while Castle closed the door after him, hoping against hope that Beckett hadn't been awoken.

But the damage was done. Beckett started, her eyes flying open, wide with something like automatic panic, and Castle hurried over to the bed.

"Hey, Beckett," he greeted, his voice soft. "You're awake. How are you feeling? Your dad just left after we had dinner. There's more food if you're hungry, a pasta casserole Alexis and I made although it might be cold by now. I'll have to see if there's a microwave around. I also brought brownies for dinner if you want some. What do you feel like?" He was babbling, giving her a chance to orient herself again as her expression gradually eased.

"Hi, Castle." She sounded tired and he guessed from the faint frown lingering on her face that she was still feeling at least some discomfort.

"You hungry?"

She shook her head a little, grimacing.

"Sure you can't eat something? Just a few bites?" he cajoled. He could swear her cheekbones were getting more pronounced by the day.

She shook her head just once. "No thanks."

"A small piece of brownie?"

She closed her eyes and then opened them to give him something close to one of her old Beckett looks. "You're not going to give up until I eat, are you?"

"Nope."

She rolled her eyes a little but then agreed, "I'll try a brownie."

"Great." He moved to retrieve the bag of food and handed her one small brownie on a napkin and then watched as she nibbled on it.

She caught his eyes, raising her eyebrows at him, and he knew she wanted to comment on his watching her eat. He pasted on one of his irritating smirks. "You know I like observing you, Beckett."

"Creepy."

"I prefer the term, devoted," he parried.

She rolled her eyes again but didn't comment and he hid a wince because he could see she wasn't talking much because it tired her out.

She eventually finished her brownie and then lay back again as if just holding her head up in order to eat had exhausted her. God, how much had she pushed herself earlier? He felt a spurt of irritation; did she always have to push herself so hard?

"What did you do to yourself?" he blurted out unthinkingly and then could have kicked himself for the stupidity of it.

Beckett lifted her head, a flicker of temper entering her expression. "I tried to run a marathon," she retorted sarcastically. "You want to know what I did? I tried to stand up. That's all," she bit off sharply.

He winced. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh. I tried to stand up, didn't try to walk or anything, just stand and I couldn't! That's how pathetic I am right now."

"Beckett, no, you're not pathetic. You're wounded and you're recovering. It'll take time but you'll get better."

"What would you know about it? Have you ever been shot?"

The word rang out harshly like the crack of a whip and he flinched but Beckett flinched more, going white as she fell back against the bed. His own irritation immediately faded, replaced by a spike of worry. Something was off, she was too pale, her breathing irregular, coming in uneven gasps, her expression blank and frozen.

He dropped down to perch on the edge of the bed, lifting a hand to rest on her shoulder, not shaking her but just gently holding her. "Kate. Kate, it's all right. I'm here, you're going to be okay, Kate." He went on with the soothing litany until gradually, her breathing eased and she blinked, awareness returning to her eyes.

"Castle…" Her voice was a little shaky, not much more than a wisp of sound, but she was responding.

"I'm here, Kate. It's all right."

She blinked and then to his horror, tears welled up in her eyes and slid down her cheeks and he shifted to sit beside her, easing a gentle arm around her shoulders, and she sagged into him. She didn't sob or make any sound at all but he thought the slow tears trickling down her cheeks were almost harder to see.

But of course, this being Beckett, he barely got a glimpse of the tears before she turned to hide her face in his shoulder, so he was only aware of her tears by the small damp patch that appeared on his shirt. Her tears didn't last for long but even afterwards, she kept her face hidden, almost seemed to be trying to burrow into his shoulder as if abashed by the tears.

He waited, not trying to make her talk, only kept his arm around her. He was slowly learning wisdom where Beckett was concerned and he thought waiting would be more effective than pushing. He could wait and hope that she would break the silence and talk to him. And waiting was made all the easier because he was quite happy having Beckett nestling against him like this.

"Sorry." Her voice eventually emerged somewhat muffled against his shoulder. "Shouldn't have snapped at you."

"It's okay." He did not say that he fully expected Beckett's frustration with her physical limitations to manifest in more displays of temper going forward but he also understood she wasn't and would not be angry at him but at her own limitations. "I was tactless."

"It's not okay," she disagreed. "I was a jerk."

"You were being human. You were frustrated, it's understandable."

Now she emerged, lifting her face to look at him briefly, another apology in her glance, before she settled her head against his shoulder again, with her face visible this time. "I just… hate this. It's so… pathetic. It's not like I hurt my legs but I still can't stand up."

"You are not pathetic, Kate Beckett," he contradicted her firmly before his tone gentled. "You just had major life-saving surgery a week ago, Beckett. You don't just bounce back from that. It'll take time to recover, weeks, months even. Isn't that what the doctor said?" he asked rhetorically since he knew from what Jim had told him that the doctors had indicated Kate's recovery would take at least three months.

"Yes," she admitted after a long minute in a tone that in anyone else, he would have termed petulant.

"You don't have to be a super-hero, Kate. Give yourself more time."

There was another pause before she managed, "Since when are you the voice of reason and patience?"

He didn't need to force a smile. She sounded more like her usual self, a shade of teasing in her tone. "I don't know but personally, I blame it on a woman."

She raised her eyebrows a little. "A woman, huh?"

"Yeah. Maybe you know her." He affected casualness as he went on. "She's tall, beautiful, a little bossy. She carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, thinks she can leap tall buildings in a single bound, but still manages to laugh at some of my jokes. She doesn't let me get away with any bad behavior and in the process, she made me grow up a little."

A wobbly smile trembled on her lips. "She sounds like a handful. You sure you want to put up with all that?"

He pretended to think about it. "She drives me crazy, that's true, but somehow I wouldn't have it any other way." He paused and sobered, meeting her eyes. "She might drive me crazy but she also made me a better man."

A soft sound like a laugh and a sob combined escaped her. "Rick."

Warmth flared in his chest at the sound of his first name on her lips. He liked her calling him Castle too, the way she had of making his name sound like a tease and a sort of private pet name combined. But she didn't often use his first name and its very rarity made it precious because she used it as an endearment. He was starting to realize that she used it as a way of expressing emotions she would struggle to put into words otherwise because, as she had admitted, she wasn't very good at talking about the things that meant the most. He was starting to realize that when she used his first name, what she really meant was that she cared about him too.

He touched a gentle finger to her chin, lifting her face as he bent to brush his lips against hers, once and then twice for good measure. "You'll recover in time, Kate. I know it'll be hard and it'll take longer than either of us wants it to but you will get better."

"How can you be so sure?"

He gave her a small, bracing smile. "Because I figured out a long time ago never to bet against Kate Beckett and that hasn't changed. I'm on your side, Beckett, always."

"Even when I'm being a jerk?"

"You aren't a jerk." He paused and then added with mock solemnity, "And if you won't take my word for it, you should listen to Dottie here, who clearly likes you, and she is an excellent judge of character." He lifted Dot and nuzzled Kate's nose with the elephant's trunk in a sort of Eskimo kiss making a rather reluctant laugh escape her.

Mission accomplished. He smiled. "There, that's better."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" But the words were rather belied since they were accompanied by her resting her head against his shoulder again.

"So I've been told." He shifted to settle more comfortably on the bed.

"Stop wriggling, Castle. Pillows aren't supposed to move around so much."

He made a show of sighing, even as he felt his heart leap. She was becoming herself again, he could hear it in her voice, the beginnings of her usual tartness, and that was all he'd wanted. "Fine, if you insist."

They lapsed into silence after that and he found himself stroking her hair almost absently. All this touching, being able to touch Beckett, was really quite addicting. He wasn't sure if Beckett was normally so amenable to such physical closeness—he wouldn't have expected her to be so physically affectionate—but he thought it might be an unlooked-for benefit of how much her defenses had lowered.

"Are you petting me?" Her voice was somewhat muffled against his shoulder.

"Um, yes," he admitted, a smile tugging on his lips. He hadn't thought to use that word but he supposed it applied.

"I'm not a kitten."

"No, not a kitten, you're a Kat," he quipped.

She snorted. "That is a terrible pun."

Yes, she was definitely herself again. "I thought it was rather clever," he affected thoughtfulness.

"That's because you like lame plays on words."

"Stop insulting me and go to sleep, Beckett."

"Don't tell me what—" Her retort was interrupted and immediately belied as she yawned. "Don't even say it, Castle."

He sternly suppressed his laugh. She was adorable—funny, he'd never really thought to use the word, adorable, to describe Beckett but she really was. Not that he would tell her so since he preferred not being maimed. "I wouldn't dream of it," he managed with credible seriousness.

"Good." And then because she was Beckett and liked to have the last word, she added, "Now be quiet."

Yes, definitely adorable. He relaxed against the bed, closing his eyes, a strange new certainty blossoming in his chest. They really were going to make it, this relationship of theirs would work and they were going to be fine, better than fine even. He had hoped before but now, somehow, he was certain. He wasn't quite sure what it was about their exchange of the last few minutes, both the serious and the silly, that had given him this confidence, but it had.

His last thought before he followed her into sleep was that she was his third-time's-the-charm.

_~To be continued…~_


	29. Chapter 29

Author's Note: Things are starting to move forward a little…

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 29_

It was strange and hard to believe and if anyone had ever told her it was possible, Kate would have dismissed it as insanity but over the next week, she came to the gradual realization that it was true. She was... happy. Somehow, in spite of everything, she really was content. She might still be stuck in the hospital, might barely be able to walk—okay, not walk exactly, more like hobble a very few steps before the pain from the incision in her side got to be too much—and now that she was on lower doses of pain medication, she was bored from lying around all day. But somehow, in spite of the circumstances, she was surprisingly happy.

Oh, she was still in pain more often than not, still felt bouts of frustration with the glacial speed of her recovery and all she could not do. She was desperately tired of the four walls of her hospital room after a full week of seeing little else. And she missed coffee since she wasn't allowed to have caffeine, what with the combination of the pain meds and the various antibiotics she was taking.

But yes, in spite of all that, she was happy and it was because of Castle. Castle, who still spent most of every day in the hospital with her. She had eventually succeeded in persuading both Castle and her dad that she really did not need to be babysat overnight any longer so for the last three nights, she had been alone overnight. And if she'd had a few nightmares, well, she was used to dealing with them alone and thanks to the pain meds, she often didn't remember them clearly anyway.

But during the day, there was always Castle. Castle, who seemed perfectly willing to devote his time to keeping her amused by talking to her or reading aloud to her. He had brought in a pack of cards and poker chips so she, her dad, and Castle had actually played a few rounds of poker—and after the first two games, Castle stopped deliberately letting either her or her dad win. He'd also brought in some puzzles and board games and generally done everything he could to keep her entertained.

More prosaically, Castle had brushed her hair a few times, volunteering for the task after seeing her grimace and give up on keeping her arm lifted for the repetitive strokes. And Kate had rather surprised herself by allowing him to braid her hair on two separate occasions to get it out of the way (and also, she had to admit, to give him something to do aside from hovering). He'd cheerfully acquiesced and then made her laugh while he was working by telling her stories of various times he'd accompanied Alexis to the hair salon, watching and learning how to style her hair.

But it wasn't only his ability to make her laugh that mattered so much. It was, oh, everything. Not just the way he made her laugh but the way he cared, the way he listened to her, the way he comforted her. He paid attention so he was learning to guess what she needed, when to be quiet and when to talk, when she wanted to be soothed and when she wanted to be distracted. It was a learning process so there were hits and misses but even that, Kate found oddly encouraging, at least after the fact.

She tried but she couldn't entirely spare him the brunt of her bad temper and frustration over her own helplessness and he dealt with her irritability with remarkable patience for the most part, only snapping back at her twice and stalking out of her room entirely after one of those times. But he returned in less than a half hour, having gone for a walk, she guessed, and they had made up.

On her side, she was learning to recognize the signs when he was suppressing his own frustration, in the flash of his eyes before he avoided looking at her, in the set of his lips, in the faint frown lines appearing on his forehead. He was reasonably good at concealing his annoyance—and she wondered how much of that was due to his being a parent, even with a child like Alexis—but she was getting better at noticing the subtle signs and when she did, it usually shamed her out of her own irritability.

So no, it wasn't always peaceful but they got past these minor blips and she just… liked being with him. She was happy and if she could judge by the light in Castle's eyes, his smiles, he was happy too, surprisingly.

It was a lot of time, a lot of togetherness, alone with Castle. Her dad, whether out of tact or out of support for her and Castle's relationship or simply to demonstrate that he trusted Castle, no longer spent most of his time at the hospital, although he visited every morning and stayed for a couple hours and then returned for dinner in the evening. For the rest of the time, she was left with Castle.

Kate wasn't sure when she'd last spent so much time together with a boyfriend. (Oh god, Castle was her boyfriend now—and why did that still sound strange?) She'd never even come close to living with a boyfriend before. She and Will had both been busy with their respective jobs when they'd been together so their time together had mostly been over the weekends and even then, one or the other had often been called in to work. She'd never minded, would even have said she liked it better that way.

She had always thought she preferred being alone rather than in the company of her others. Spending time with her dad was a limited exception and of course, aside from the occasional long weekend with her dad at his cabin, she hadn't spent much time with her dad either in recent years, aside from their regular dinner. She and Will had kept their separate apartments and she'd been happy to leave it that way, had generally found herself a little, guiltily relieved to return to the solitude of her own apartment if she spent more than a few days at Will's place.

But somehow, spending all this time with Castle was different. She supposed it could just be due to the circumstances, her being laid up in the hospital and the fact that their relationship was still relatively new, but somehow, she didn't quite believe that. It was just… different with Castle, felt different.

That even now, even with spending all this time with him, she found herself thinking of him when he wasn't there. She would never have supposed it was possible to miss a man when she'd seen him little more than twelve hours earlier and knew he was going to be returning any minute now but apparently, somehow, it was.

As it was, he was late. Kate surreptitiously glanced at the clock on the wall, inwardly frowning a little. It was almost 11 a.m. and Castle was still not here. In the last few days since he'd stopped staying in the hospital overnight, he'd usually returned to the hospital well before 10.

"—that's what I was thinking, anyway. Katie? Are you listening?"

She blinked and returned her focus to her dad. "Oh, yes, of course, Dad," she hurriedly answered. "It's a good idea."

Her dad gave her a knowing, rather amused look. "But you're wondering where Rick is."

She bit her lip and tried not to flush. "I was just—well, I should talk about it with him too."

Her dad smiled. "Of course you should. And you're right, he is running late today, isn't he?"

Damn, busted. There were times she wished her dad could be somewhat less perceptive where she was concerned; it was a little disconcerting when he could practically pluck the thoughts out of her head like this. "He must have just gotten distracted. It happens a lot," she managed gamely.

"Of course," her dad agreed blandly. "Well, I would stay to talk about all this with Rick too but I should probably be heading out myself. I have that lunch meeting with Charles I told you about."

She nodded. "I remember. You must have a lot to talk about. Let me know how it goes." Her dad had a meeting with Charles Rabinowitz, one of the other senior attorneys at his firm, to officially talk about her dad assigning his work to other lawyers so he could take a leave of absence to take care of her.

"It'll be fine, Katie. Charles has already assured me he understands so it'll just be a matter of working out the logistics. Say hello to Rick for me and tell him I'll see him tonight for dinner."

"I will. And thanks, Dad, for all of this."

Her dad waved a dismissive hand. "Nonsense, Katie-bug. You're my daughter."

"Still. I know all this has been a lot of bother for you." She felt a tug of something like guilt. What had happened to her had not just up-ended her life; it had overturned her dad's life too. (And not just her dad's life. Castle's, the boys', Lanie's, even Alexis's and Martha's lives… The ripple effects of her mom's case kept widening ever further.)

And as she knew all too well, she and her dad were alike in preferring their lives be organized and she still worried, in some unacknowledged corner of her mind, because the last time her dad's life had been so catastrophically disrupted—when her mom had died—he had not coped very well. But all that was something she could never—would never—say to her dad.

A teasing glint entered her dad's smile. "I'm not sure if I should say it hasn't been any trouble or that I'm used to it."

She had to laugh, even as her heart squeezed a little. "Dad!" It still hit her sometimes, how much she had missed her dad's wry humor in the years he'd been drowning.

Her dad chuckled and bent to kiss her forehead. "I'm just glad you're feeling better, Katie."

She managed a smile that wasn't entirely feigned. "I know, Dad. Thanks."

"I'll see you later."

"I'll be here," she assured him rather dryly.

He laughed and patted her shoulder before he left.

Some worry was just starting to creep into her curiosity over Castle's late arrival when she heard the distant tones of a familiar voice greeting the nurses and felt a little bubble of joy inside her chest, one she was almost starting to feel accustomed to.

"Good morning, Beckett."

She sternly tried to control the size of her smile. "Hey, Castle."

"Your dad's already left? I really am late this morning if I missed seeing him."

"Oh, are you late?" she asked with a show of elaborate unconcern. "I hadn't noticed."

He only smirked at her. "Liar. I know you missed me."

"Sometimes I worry that your ego will grow so big it'll block out the sun."

"That'll never happen because my ego is transparent."

He looked so ridiculously smug at his play on words that she had to smile in spite of herself. "Clever, Castle. Anyone might think you were a writer."

"I have been known to put pen to paper," he agreed with mock solemnity.

"Oh, you have, have you?" she matched his tone. "And would you care to put pen to paper and explain your tardiness today?"

"You're very hot when you're imitating a teacher," he responded conversationally. "And as it happens, I was late because I was talking to some actual teachers."

That answer made her teasing instinct fade. "Is something up with Alexis?"

"Alexis is fine, thanks for asking." He gave her a look of so much gratitude and warmth anyone might have thought she'd just single-handedly saved Alexis's life. "It's the last day of the school year today so I went to school with her, dropping off a box of goodies for the teachers' lounge and going around to thank Alexis's teachers as I always do."

"Oh, you always do that?" She wasn't sure why she was surprised at yet another piece of evidence of what an actively-involved dad Castle was but somehow, she was.

Castle shrugged, as usual making light of anything he did for Alexis as if it was simply to be expected. "Oh, sure, I always made a point of getting to know Alexis's teachers, especially in the last few years."

"Why especially in the last few years? Alexis isn't that young anymore that she needs constant adult supervision."

"She's a teenager. You remember what that prep school principal said a couple years ago, that high school kids are like icebergs with only a small part of their lives visible? I figured getting to know Alexis's teachers who spend a lot more time with her and her classmates day after day was the best way of keeping up with her life, any issues with school or friends she might not want to tell me about."

"You're a good dad, Castle, and from what I know of Alexis, I don't think you have to worry that much about her being an iceberg."

He grimaced. "Maybe I don't but as much as I hate to admit it, I know Alexis doesn't tell me everything anymore and she is a teenager with a boyfriend—" he shuddered a little theatrically, "so I worry about all she might not be telling me. You know, she didn't even tell me she had a boyfriend at all for a little while? She mentioned it to my mother days before she told me."

He made another exaggerated face but she could see that his histrionics aside, this really did bother Castle. "It's not unusual for a teenage girl not to tell her dad about a boyfriend. I didn't mention my first boyfriend to my dad either." Although in her case, it had been a little different because she had told her mom, at least eventually, and had known her mom would inevitably tell her dad, sparing Kate from seeing his immediate reaction.

He sighed. "It might not be unusual but it still bothers me. She's growing up so fast and is so much more independent now and… sometimes I feel like I'm just a bystander in her life, on the outside looking in, and it's only going to get worse when she goes off to college."

Something squeezed her heart as it occurred to her that Castle was sharing a very real vulnerability with her and as she already knew, his relationship with Alexis was the most precious and therefore the most closely-guarded part of his life. She guessed that the only other person he would even have thought of talking to about this was Martha and she wasn't entirely sure he would have mentioned it to Martha either, from what she knew of Castle's relationship with his mother.

And in the last couple weeks, Castle hadn't spent much time with Alexis at all because he'd been at the hospital with Kate instead. Kate felt a pang of guilt that solidified her resolve about the conversation she needed to have with Castle.

"She is growing up but she still needs you, Castle."

He managed a faint smile. "I know but it's not quite the same." His expression softened, became wistful. "She used to say I was her bestest buddy and I miss that sometimes."

A small smile escaped her at the childish phrase. She could easily picture a pint-sized Alexis and a younger Castle like in one of the many pictures scattered over the loft. Yes, Castle the perennial man-child would have had such fun with young Alexis.

She sobered and lifted a hand to brush a lock of hair away from his face in an unnecessary gesture, glad not the first time that she finally could lift her hand like this without more than a minor twinge. His expression brightened as he caught her wrist, turning his face to press a kiss to her palm, sending a little shiver of heat streaking up her arm. (Another reason to want to speed up her recovery. She tried to shove the thought aside.)

"It won't be the same, Castle, but you are still her dad and that won't change." She paused, hesitating, and then went on, "I still need my dad and I don't just mean in these last couple weeks. I needed him before too, needed him… when I was in college." The last few words were not quite steady, referring as they were to the worst years of her life.

She knew Castle caught the allusion—of course he would—by the slight catch of his breath. "Kate…" (Oh, she liked the sound of her first name on his lips. One benefit of these real conversations, as difficult as they still were for her, was that he used her first name so much more frequently during these talks. And when he did, he made her first name sound like an endearment and a caress.)

"You'll always be her dad, Castle, and no one can take the place of a dad." She tried for a watery smile. "Believe me, I know."

He surged forward to kiss her softly, tenderly. "Thank you, Kate."

The kiss was all too brief before he resumed his seat, his expression once again relaxed and cheerful. The sight made her heart leap and she felt a pull of reluctance at the idea of broaching the subject she knew they needed to talk about. She hated the thought of dimming the light in his eyes but her dad would expect some sort of answer when he returned for dinner and in any event, this conversation would not become any easier from procrastinating.

"Castle, can we talk?"

Something in her tone, if not her words, must have set off some alarm bells because his smile faded as he straightened up, his eyes now searching her expression. "Of course."

She wasn't quite sure where to start but finally began, "The reason my dad had to leave before you arrived today was because he has a lunch meeting at noon."

Now Castle looked bemused but somewhat less concerned. "Okay, that's, um, good to know. I hope it goes well."

"He's asked for a leave of absence from work to take care of me," she explained. "And then Dr. Gupta came by this morning and told us that I'll probably be able to be discharged in the next couple days."

"That's great news!" Castle beamed, his whole expression lighting up. "I meant to mention it before but I've been thinking about that. You can come back to the loft and you can stay in my bedroom so you don't have to worry about dealing with stairs and—"

She tried not to wince. Of course, she should have expected Castle would want her to stay at the loft. When had he ever hesitated to invite her over and to him, the loft would be the most suitable place, larger and more comfortable than her own apartment. "I'm not moving into the loft," she cut him off, as gently as she could.

He blinked, his face falling before he tried to smile. "Oh, I should have realized you'll probably prefer being in your own apartment surrounded by all your own things. Well, that's okay too. I can crash on your couch or—"

"Castle, will you just listen," she interrupted him.

He looked almost stricken. "Yes, sorry, I'm talking too much. Go on." He mimed zipping his lips closed and something pinched inside her chest at this sign of some of his characteristic insouciance.

"My dad has a cabin upstate and he and I talked after Dr. Gupta left and I think I want to go out to my dad's cabin while I recover. There's more room there and it'll be more comfortable than my apartment or my dad's but it's not just that. I feel like… I need to get away from the city, get away from everyone. The visits, everyone wanting to know how I am, it's too much and I need to get away where it'll be quiet."

The conviction had been growing with every day since she'd been transferred out of the ICU to a regular wing of the hospital that was much more permissive of visitors because she'd had a fairly steady stream of visitors—and she wasn't talking about either Castle or her dad. Lanie had visited four times in the last week, the boys had visited twice. Karpowski and LT had each dropped by, as had Hassan. There'd even been a brief, official visit from someone at One PP, someone who worked under the Chief of Detectives and who had the unenviable task of visiting every cop who sustained an injury on the job. Less officially, her old high school friend Maddy had heard about what had happened on the news and also visited once. And of course, Alexis had returned to visit twice and been accompanied by Martha one of those times.

So many well-wishers, as evidenced by the fact that her room once again resembled a florist's shop. Kate knew they were all concerned about her and she ought to be grateful—she was grateful—but for all that, the visits scraped against her nerves like sandpaper because she hated the expressions of sympathy that were too close to pity, hated the cautious way everyone talked to her or—what was almost worse than that—the forced and clearly fake heartiness in people's demeanor. Even the cops, who usually traded in gallows humor, couldn't quite muster it when talking to someone who'd had such a close call, had been shot while at the funeral of another cop, no less, so even hard-nosed cops like Espo, Karpowski, and LT didn't manage to sound like their usual selves. If she could have, she would have forbidden all visitors but she couldn't do that because that would be ungrateful and rude. So she put on a show of being happy to see everyone who visited, forcing smiles.

But at least in a hospital, no one was really inclined to linger for long and more than once, a visit had been cut short by the arrival of a nurse or Dr. Gupta making her rounds. How much worse would it be in an apartment when there was no chance of an interruption? No, she had to get away, get out of the city.

Castle had paled and she inwardly flinched. No, that hadn't come out right. "Is it me? Do you need space? I know I've been hovering—"

"No," she burst out a little too forcefully. "That's not—I didn't mean—" The rush of words clogged her throat and she broke off, reaching out a hand and was a little comforted when he immediately grasped her hand. She squeezed his hand a little, hoping the press of skin against skin would get across what she couldn't immediately find the words to say. It worked. His expression eased a little.

"I wasn't talking about you," she finally managed to say. He was… the best thing that had ever happened to her. (Wait, what? Oh god…) "You are a good thing," she blurted out instead, only to realize belatedly how badly phrased that was. She really was terrible at this talking thing. She tried again. "Being with you has been almost the only good thing about these last couple weeks."

Now, the faintest of smiles tugged at his lips and she felt a knot of worry loosen inside her chest. They could talk through this and he would understand, wouldn't he?

"I meant that I need to get away from everyone else. Even Lanie and the boys, as much as I know they care. You saw how the boys were, they don't know how to talk to me right now. And everyone wanting to know how I am…" She trailed off because she didn't know how to finish the sentence without sounding like a terrible person because the truth was, she hated all the well-intentioned inquiries about how she was. It wasn't as if she was ever inclined to talk much about herself to begin with and admitting to any sort of weakness was anathema, but she didn't like lying repeatedly (and obviously) to say she was fine either.

"I think I understand," he said slowly. "Can I… could I go to the cabin with you? I mean, I don't know if there's room for me or if your dad would be okay with it but I…"

"There's an extra room and my dad already said he'd be fine with you coming too." Her dad had actually seemed to assume that Castle would accompany them as a matter of course. She hesitated. This was really the sticking point, where she thought, feared, she wouldn't be able to make herself clear, where the differences between her and Castle might get in the way of their relationship. He was a people person and she… was not. It wasn't about him but she wasn't sure how to make him understand that. "But Castle, I think… I don't want you to come to the cabin."

"At all?" His voice had risen sharply. "But that would mean months—"

Shit, no, she'd misspoken. Again. "No," she blurted out hurriedly. "I didn't mean that. I just meant, not immediately. I just… I need some time, that's all."

"Time for what?" he asked with a faint frown. "If you mean, your recovery, I want to be there for you and—"

"It's not that," she interrupted him. "Well, it's not only that. I mean, I'll be on bed rest the first week or so but that's not really it. It's just… This—us—has all happened fast and under severely abnormal circumstances and I think… living under the same roof, being together 24/7 for however long and me so helpless—it just seems like it would be too much too soon." She paused and then went on, "I mean, normally, if none of this had happened, would you have expected to live together after less than two weeks?" Because it really had been less than two weeks since she had really accepted that she couldn't send him away, since they had really started this relationship, as strange as that somehow sounded. She felt as if Captain Montgomery's funeral had been months ago, at least, but it was little more than two weeks ago.

Castle opened his mouth for what she guessed was an automatic yes—impulsive romantic that he was, she thought, with a pinch of affection—but then he paused. "Well, no," he admitted slowly, half-reluctantly. "But is that really the point?" he went on after a moment. "We shouldn't decide things based on what we would have done if things were different."

"I'm not." She really wasn't but she had been hedging. She needed to be more direct. "I just meant, things have happened fast and I think I need some time, not just to heal a little more but to think about, well, everything that's happened." Not just their relationship but everything else, Captain Montgomery's death, what had happened to her, the new developments in her mom's case… She paused, looking at their joined hands for a moment, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. "So can you give me some time, Castle, to process everything? And then, I thought you could come out to the cabin, if that's okay with you?"

His expression softened. "Of course, Kate, whatever you need."

She relaxed a little. "Thank you."

"But we can still talk when you're at the cabin, right?" he asked hopefully.

She gave him a smile, feeling a swell of hope in her chest. Maybe they really could do this, bridge the gap of their differences. She wanted this to work, oh she wanted it so much. "Yes, Castle, we can still talk. I don't really like not talking to you."

He didn't look entirely happy—something pinched her heart—but he managed a small smile. "The feeling's mutual. So what are you and your dad planning for the first weeks of your recovery?"

"Well, as I mentioned, my dad's taking a leave of absence from work for six weeks to start with, although he's told me he can extend it if necessary. So once I'm discharged, we'll go to his cabin. Dr. Gupta said that even after I'm discharged, I'll be on bed rest for the first week or so, at least."

"Is there a hospital near the cabin, just in case, or what about your physical therapy? Because if it's just about getting out of the city, there's also the Hamptons—"

"I think I'll be okay at the cabin at least at first," she interrupted him before he could invite her to stay at his place in the Hamptons in so many words. Maybe one day but right now, no. Some part of her balked at the idea of going to Castle's undoubtedly enormous mansion in the Hamptons, where she had never been but which she imagined would be made for sunbathing and swimsuits and the society of rich and famous people—no, it didn't seem right somehow. She couldn't imagine feeling as if she belonged there and dealing with that, on top of her physical recovery, seemed like too much. She wanted familiar surroundings, somewhere she could relax.

"There's a hospital about half an hour away from the cabin in case of emergencies but actually, Dr. Gupta said I won't be able to start real physical therapy for at least six weeks. At first, it'll just be a matter of regaining mobility and strength for everyday things like sitting up and standing and walking around, nothing strenuous. It's only after I reach a point of being able to take care of those everyday movements without much trouble that I can really start physical therapy so I might need to come back into the city at that point but I figure I can wait until it gets closer before making any decisions."

"Oh." He managed another small smile, this one seeming more sincere. "I should have known you'd already have things planned out, Beckett."

"I didn't, actually," she admitted. "It was my dad who planned all this." It was true; she'd been so focused on getting through each day she hadn't really been thinking ahead. But her dad had surprised her this morning, having already started making arrangements for her in a way he'd stopped doing about a decade ago, although he'd carefully phrased it all as a suggestion. Even if she'd had the energy or the inclination to take issue with his plans—which she hadn't—there had been just a hint of vulnerability in his expression that made her agree. She sobered. "I think it's helped him feel useful."

Castle's expression instantly softened. "I can understand that." He paused and then straightened, assuming an air of briskness. "You're right, it probably will be good for you to get out of the city. And it wouldn't hurt for me to have some more time to write."

He was trying so hard to give her the space she needed and she suddenly found it hard to breathe in the swell of emotion. "It'll just be a few days, Castle," she rushed to assure him, finding only after she'd said the words that she meant it. She might feel like she needed space but she also knew she would miss him, too much to keep her distance for longer than a few days. "You can write and spend time with Alexis. And we can text and talk on the phone every day." She essayed a small, teasing smile. "After a few days, you'll probably be sick of hearing from me."

His eyes brightened as his lips curved into a real smile. "Well, I know how you like a challenge so you're welcome to try."

"There, that's better. You're smiling."

He recognized the words, as she'd known he would, his smile sliding into a smirk. "I think that's my line. Are you quoting me?"

"Maybe. Do you want a writer's credit?" she quipped, her heart lifting. She liked being able to make him smile too.

"I think I should get some payment for use of my lines," he affected seriousness.

"Payment, huh," she hid a smile, knowing what he was thinking. "What do you have in mind?"

"For you, hmm." He pretended to consider it. "A few kisses should make us even."

She deliberately drew her lower lip between her teeth in a parody of thought. "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Castle. A few kisses for the use of just one line?"

His eyes lowered to focus on her mouth, as she'd known he would. "I'm a bestselling author, Detective, I charge by the word. And by my count, that line had five words."

He was leaning forwards, as was she. "I'm pretty sure extorting a cop is illegal."

She could feel his breath against her lips. "So arrest me the—" She cut off his words with a kiss, just a brief one to start with, and then another and another… But then again, who was counting?

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: I imagine none of you are thrilled with Kate's decision but she is still Beckett, after all… But rest assured, this is not canon either.


	30. Chapter 30

Author's Note: Apologies for not being able to post last week but RL got in the way. This is something of a transitional chapter getting to the next stage of this story.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 30_

Kate was discharged from the hospital two days later, on Monday morning, with her dad and Castle in faithful attendance.

Her dad had brought a loose button-down shirt and sweats for her to change into, the first real clothes she'd worn for almost three full weeks. She managed to get the button-down on with minimal discomfort but putting on the sweats turned out to be a more arduous process and by the end of it, Kate found her lip hurt from having bitten it so hard to keep from crying out from the burning pain along her side, the duller tightness of her chest. It was a nasty reminder that while she might be being released from the hospital, it didn't mean she was anywhere close to being functional.

She gritted her teeth, trying to keep her breathing slow and steady, as she waited for the pain to subside, at least enough to allow her to hobble slowly and carefully out of the bathroom.

She pasted on the brightest smile she could muster for her dad's benefit, knowing it was wan but it was all she could manage. "Well, here I am. Presentable enough?"

"Here you are," her dad echoed. "Feeling better to be wearing actual clothes, Katie?"

"One step closer to normal," she assured him, keeping her smile on her face. She saw Castle's narrowed eyes focus on her expression and wondered how much he saw or guessed—and when had he learned to read her so well?

"Might as well sit down, Beckett," Castle interjected. "Esther just went to get Dr. Gupta to sign off on your discharge and said it might be a little while."

Kate sank down onto the visitor chair, trying not to grimace. She really hated how every change in position seemed to hurt.

It was not very long before Dr. Gupta appeared, along with a hospital orderly pushing a wheelchair, maybe 15 minutes or so, but the little interval of time was welcome as it allowed for the pain to along her side to fade, making it easier for her to greet Dr. Gupta with a faint, but real, smile.

"Well, good morning, Kate. You look eager to be getting out of here. It's all right; I don't take it personally," Dr. Gupta joked mildly.

Kate smiled. "I can't say I'm sorry to be leaving here."

"Somehow, people never are. I can't imagine why," the doctor quipped before becoming serious and businesslike. "Esther's reviewed with you the guidelines for taking care of yourself these next few weeks?"

Kate nodded her assent and her dad spoke up as well and the doctor nodded but reiterated some of the basics again before adding, "Now, just remember, you're going to have to be patient. You're recovering from a very serious injury and it's going to take a long time for your body to heal. Don't try to push yourself too hard or you could set back your recovery, especially in the first month or so. Take things slowly and take all the recommended doses of medication, both the antibiotics and the painkillers. Here's my card and feel free to call if you have any questions or run into any trouble."

"Yes, doctor," Kate responded obediently.

"Take care of yourself, Kate." Dr. Gupta shook Kate's hand and then Jim's and Castle's. "Mr. Beckett, Mr. Castle, it's been a pleasure."

The pleasantries finished, Dr. Gupta took her leave while Esther and the hospital orderly helped Kate into the wheelchair and Castle cajoled Esther into allowing him to be the one to push the wheelchair out, even if the orderly was required to accompany them.

"Oh, wait, can't forget this." Her dad made a point of handing Dot the elephant to Kate, who managed a real smile as she clasped Dot on her lap. (Alexis had been right that saying or even thinking the name, Dot, tended to make her smile. Although that could have been due to Dot's cuteness too.)

"All set, Beckett?"

Kate looked up to meet Castle's eyes as he smiled down at her and she felt a rush of emotion, gratitude and affection, swelling inside her chest as she thought, again, just how much better this whole experience, the extended hospital stay and all, had been because of him. She couldn't imagine what the last couple weeks would have been like without him—no, that wasn't true. She could imagine all too well what the last weeks would have been like, how much harder, bleaker, this hospital stay would have been—and just the thought was almost enough to make her shudder.

She lifted one hand and he caught it quickly in his, giving her hand a brief squeeze. "All set, Castle," she echoed. "Let's get out of here."

"Your wish is my command, Detective," he said with an exaggerated flourish that made her laugh and it was on that cheerful note that Kate left the hospital room she devoutly hoped never to see again.

It was not a long trip before they were exiting the elevator on the ground floor but then to Kate's surprise, Castle turned her away from where Kate could already see the front entrance.

"Castle, where are you taking us?"

She looked up at him to see him shrug, pausing for a moment. "I called in a favor so we're exiting out the back entrance. It's quieter, more private. I figured you'd prefer that."

Which was true but something in the set of his mouth, his expression, had her guessing that what he also meant was that leaving through the back entrance would also be safer. The back entrance to the hospital was the one reserved for staff only so no one could access it without a hospital badge.

She hadn't thought of it—she'd been avoiding thinking about her mom's case because it was too much and she didn't have the emotional energy to deal with it—but Castle clearly had been thinking about it. She might have thought she'd be a little annoyed at his taking such an action without so much as mentioning it to her beforehand but somehow she wasn't. It was a small but very telling gesture, going just far enough to try to protect her but not so far as to overstep the bounds.

She caught a flicker of uncertainty in his glance before he started to walk again and shot him a small half-teasing, half-reassuring look. "Not as silly as you look, are you?" she quipped but what she meant was, thank you.

"I have my moments," he returned lightly but she knew he understood.

Arranging for them to leave by the back entrance wasn't all that Castle had done, she saw in another moment as they reached the doors only for her to be greeted by the sight of a uniformed driver standing beside a luxurious-looking town car.

"Castle…" she began, not quite sure what she was going to say but her dad interjected before she could finish a sentence.

"Rick insisted and I couldn't refuse," her dad spoke up. "It should be more comfortable for you, Katie."

Having been presented with a _fait accompli_, she had little choice but to agree. Especially as her dad and Castle were probably right that the town car would be more comfortable than her dad's regular car.

Kate insisted on standing up from the wheelchair on her own and sliding into the town car unassisted but realized only as she was bending to get into the car that she might have overestimated her abilities as the incisions on her side and chest throbbed painfully. Oh damn damn damn, she could not become accustomed to how even the simplest of movements were so difficult! And she'd had no idea of the amount of upper body strength and the muscles involved in such things as standing up or sitting down but after this, she was starting to think even those actions were feats of agility. Pathetically.

She tried to hide it but realized she must have grimaced or made some faint noise when her dad asked worriedly, "Katie?"

She mustered up a smile. "I'm okay, Dad. Just the new position takes some getting used to," she prevaricated.

"If you're sure, Katie…" Her dad didn't sound entirely convinced but he didn't push.

Kate gingerly sat back in the seat and it was a measure of just how achy she was that she left her dad and Castle to handle the rest of the technicalities and pleasantries accompanying her discharge, receiving the last notes from the orderly and thanking him before the orderly returned inside the hospital with the empty wheelchair.

Once the orderly left, her dad joined her in the back seat while Castle slid into the front passenger seat.

"All set, Mr. Castle, Detective Beckett?" the driver asked.

Castle looked back at her and she gave him a small nod, which was all the permission he needed to address the driver. "All set, thanks, Dan. You remember the address?" Somehow, she wasn't surprised when Castle smoothly rattled off her own address to remind the driver. Her dad must have told him or something.

It wasn't a long drive back to her apartment either, which was fortunate as she wasn't sure how well she would have handled a longer one, not even because of the physical discomfort, for once. The city was just too loud. The bustle of people, the noise of traffic—she was no longer accustomed to the sounds of city life, found herself tensing more with every second, nervous at the occasional glints of sunlight flashing off glass or metal, startling sharply at the sound of a car horn blaring.

She shut her eyes and tried desperately to shut her ears, which didn't work, and clenched her fists but she couldn't help but feel as if she was being pummeled, bombarded with all the noise, flashes of remembered sounds—of screams and sirens—echoing through her mind. She thought she might just scream when she felt the car come to a stop and then the sound of the driver's voice. "Here we are, Detective, Mr. Castle."

Her eyes snapped open to realize that they had arrived at her apartment—oh thank god—and she barely had time to unclench her fist before Castle was opening the car door for her.

"Home sweet home, right, Beckett?" he asked lightly enough but his eyes were concerned as they searched her face.

She gripped his offered hand tightly in hers, focusing on his eyes, the solid warmth of his hand grasping hers serving as an anchor to reality. She was fine, healing, and Castle was right here with her.

He continued to hold her hand but did not try to help her otherwise as she slowly, carefully, slid out of the car and straightened up.

"Are you okay, Katie?" her dad's voice cut in.

She mustered up a pale smile for his benefit. "I'm just stiff, that's all."

"Are you going to be okay for the drive out to the cabin? We don't have to leave today, can wait another day or so," her dad suggested.

The sound of a car door slamming from somewhere had her startling. "No, I'll be fine for the drive. Might as well get it over with so I can relax at the cabin."

"Are you sure, Katie?"

"I'm sure." She needed to escape the noise of the city.

"All right," her dad agreed. "Well, then, I think I'll go pick up some things to take out to the cabin and I have a bag packed at my place. I'll be back to pick you up in about an hour, if that's okay with you, Katie?"

"That sounds fine, Dad. I just need to pack a few things myself."

"Will there be anything else, Mr. Castle?" the driver's quiet voice inserted.

Castle turned to Jim. "Jim, can Dan take you anywhere, back to your apartment or to pick up supplies for the cabin?"

Her dad waved aside the offer. "Oh, no, that's not necessary. I can walk to pick up supplies and then take a cab back to my place. It's not far." Her dad exchanged a look with Castle that Kate correctly interpreted as a request that Castle stay with her while her dad ran his errand.

Castle didn't respond to her dad's request in words, only turned to the driver. "That'll be all, thanks, Dan. Have a good rest of the day."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. Castle. Thank you."

The town car drove off and after another few seconds of restrained fussing in which her dad tried (and failed) to hide his concern for her, her dad was persuaded to leave to pick up supplies, more reassured by Castle's silent promise to stay with her than by Kate's own words, she suspected. Her dad knew her too well; she would have to try harder to reassure him, she thought.

She and Castle made their slow way into her apartment, Castle matching his steps to her cautious gait, although he tried to distract her by keeping up a running commentary on the neighborhood and the building and how excited he was to finally see where she was living now and other such nonsense.

She had hoped that being inside the familiar surroundings of her apartment would help and it did, a little, but after so many days away from it, even her apartment seemed a little off to her, the air rather stale from so many weeks of being shut up. She glanced around, aware that Castle wasn't even making a pretense of not doing the same, and then stiffened more as her eyes caught the open door to her study, the glimpse of the corner of the shutters.

Oh god. The makeshift murder board. She'd… forgotten about it, somehow. With all that had happened, and then of course, she hadn't been inside her apartment to be reminded of it in weeks, it had slipped her mind. But it came rushing back, the remembered images of the pictures on the board, all the pieces of the puzzle she had so painstakingly put together never knowing that the secret of who was behind the whole plot had been known by Montgomery the whole time.

The betrayal of it, the grief, and on top of all that, the knowledge of just how big this whole thing was, how widespread the roots of this conspiracy were—a crooked Senator, who would clearly stop at nothing to keep and stay in power—came crashing down on her and she jerked sharply, stumbling blindly away to collapse onto her couch, barely conscious of the physical discomfort.

She couldn't—she couldn't handle it. It was all too much right now. She could barely walk, could hardly breathe through the tightness in her chest, the pain in her side, and now… She shut her eyes against the rush of dizziness.

"Kate? Kate, what is it?"

Castle's voice, tight with panic, edged into her consciousness and she became belatedly aware that he was holding her hand, another hand resting on her shoulder.

Castle. She couldn't bring herself to open her eyes quite yet but she let herself lean towards him, more by instinct than conscious thought, and was proven right as he immediately shifted his position until he was supporting her, propping her up.

She rested against his solid strength until the dizziness subsided and with the clearing of her mind came an understanding of what to do, or more accurately, what she no longer needed to do because she had someone, a partner, who could and would handle this first step for her. "Castle, could you do something for me?"

"Anything," he promised immediately. "What do you need?"

She opened her eyes and managed to straighten up. "Can you go into my study, over there, and take down everything on the shutters?"

"The shutters?" he echoed blankly but then nodded. "Of course."

He released her hand slowly, with visible reluctance, and walked backwards the first few steps away from her, as if unable to bring himself to look away, but then eventually, accepted the dictates of common sense and turned to go into the study.

She heard the soft sound of reaction as he saw the open shutters and realized just what it was and then there was mostly silence. Her mind filled in the blanks, as it were, picturing him methodically taking down the makeshift murder board, and she tried not to flinch.

She couldn't bear to look at the board again, not right now, even if she had the strength to stand and take the board down herself, which she rather doubted, but even so, knowing someone else was doing what she could not was not easy either. It was the lesser of two evils, a matter of desperation. She couldn't handle it herself and she knew she couldn't let her dad catch even a glimpse of it and more than that, there was no one else she could or would trust with such a thing as taking down the murder board no one besides her knew about.

It wasn't long, just a handful of minutes, before Castle returned and sank down beside her on the couch. "I took everything down," he told her quietly. "It's packed up into one of the boxes under your desk."

She nodded, trying and failing for a smile. "Okay."

He hesitated and then after a moment said carefully, "Sometimes I forget that you live with this every day."

His tone was a little rueful, a little apologetic, a little guilty. "I'm used to it, mostly," she admitted. Her mom's case, like her grief over her mom, had become like a constant presence that was almost as much a part of her now as the clothes she wore.

He released a little sigh. "When did you start working on it?"

"Last summer." Last summer, after she had broken up with Tom and she remembered, now, thinking about Castle as she'd started putting up the board, not only because it was information he had been the first to find out about, but also because she'd found herself thinking, absurdly, irrationally, or so she'd thought, that looking into her mom's case again would be easier, better somehow, if Castle were around. She'd dismissed the thought at the time, told herself she had to be losing her mind, to imagine that Castle the perennial man-child could be of any help.

"I'm sorry."

She blinked. "For what?"

"Sorry you had to go through all this alone. I was the one who started all this, opened Pandora's box, and then…"

"I was the one who made you leave." And even if he had stayed, she wasn't sure how much she would have let him help. She knew herself and she couldn't be sure she would have come to trust him so much, would have lowered her defenses enough to allow him to help her. She didn't say that aloud, not wanting to hurt him. What she did say was, "I managed. And I'm not alone anymore."

The faintest smile flickered across his lips and he grasped her hand. "You're not alone," he agreed and the words sounded like a promise.

"I'm not sure what to do," she confessed, the words escaping her before she'd consciously thought. She didn't know what to do about her mom's case, how to react to all of Jordan Shaw's revelations, not now or going forward in the near future. She hadn't tried to think about it much but now that she was out of the hospital, the urge to be doing something had begun to gnaw at her like an itch she couldn't scratch. And she simply could not think clearly. The pain meds she was still taking, while a lower dose, were still enough to leave her mind somewhat hazy, not helped by the fact that every action took so much energy, so much effort, that it left her with little to no mental or emotional room to consider her mom's case.

Somewhat surprisingly—or perhaps not—Castle didn't need to ask what she meant, squeezing her hand gently. "You don't need to do anything with your mom's case right now," he reasoned mildly. "Agent Shaw is working on it and so are the boys. The boys know everything about the case you do, right?"

It wasn't really a question but she answered it anyway. "Pretty much, yes." Of course they did; they had been with her every step of the way.

"I know it's hard but you can trust Agent Shaw and the boys. And remember, this sort of investigation isn't something that can be finished up in a day or two. All the information you and the boys have already found took the last year and more for you to put together, remember. Now that there's a set target, it shouldn't take as long but still, it won't be done immediately."

He was right. Of course he was right. Her logical brain told her as much but where her mom's case was concerned, her logic only got her so far. Her mom's case always made her impatient. And now they seemed so much closer to the end, finally getting justice for her mom. Her lips twisted ruefully. "That's easier said than done." The role of passive spectator, waiting but not involved, wasn't one she was temperamentally suited to and certainly not where her mom's case was concerned.

He knew her well enough to know that too. "But if it'll help, I can ride herd on the boys, check on what they're up to, every day, if you want."

The offer made her lips lift fractionally. "If you start checking on the boys every day, I'm pretty sure Espo would kill you in a week."

"Eh," he pretended to shrug. "I was planning to bug Ryan, not Espo. And then if Espo still complained, I'd just tell him you told me to do it. He wouldn't dare defy you."

She had to smile. In her current condition, she doubted she could so much as spar with an infant but Castle wasn't treating her like an invalid. "Oh, thanks, just sic Espo on me," she tried to retort.

"Call it self-preservation."

"There's no need to bug the boys every day. I'll think about it."

He nodded and then with a change of expression, his tone half-brisk and half-teasing, "Now, I imagine your dad will be back to pick you up soon. Do you need my help to pack? I'm told I'm an expert packer."

His little waggle of his eyebrows made her smile faintly. "I think I can manage, Castle." She wasn't quite ready to have Castle going through her underwear drawer. "But do me a favor and go through my kitchen? I don't think there should be much but throw out anything perishable, clean it out so I can leave?"

He made a small face but agreed easily enough. "Sure, I can do that."

She gave him a smile. "Thanks."

He offered her a hand in a gesture of affected courtliness disguising the support she still needed to stand up.

Once standing, she squeezed his hand briefly in gratitude, both for his tact and his help, before slowly retreating to her bedroom to pack.

Packing turned out to be yet another exercise in endurance, as was basically every task these days. Kate gritted her teeth against the tight ache building in her sternum and along her side and ignored the dragging exhaustion as she slowly, carefully, tossed what she imagined she would need for a couple week stay at the cabin into a bag, opting mostly for loose, casual button-downs and exercise clothes since she was clearly in no condition to go anywhere.

She ventured to her closet to grab her bathrobe, only to still, her eyes focusing on her dresses. It was so stupid, stupid and silly, to react so strongly to something so trivial, so shallow, but she found herself staring, an absurd swell of emotion tightening her throat. The red dress Castle had bought for her that time they had to go to the MADT fundraiser two years ago seemed to leap out at her—ridiculously since it was inside a garment bag and shoved into the back corner of her closet when she hadn't wanted a reminder of Castle. But she knew it was there, hanging behind her other dresses. And not a single one of them she was capable of wearing right now or—she remembered the plunging neckline of the red dress—possibly ever again.

She didn't know why she cared. Of all the things to be upset over right now, the fact that there was an unsightly hole in her chest should surely be the last of them but at that moment, it seemed like the last straw, a last indignity.

Out of nowhere, remembered images, pictures on Page Six which she'd seen of Castle with various women over the years, flashed through her mind—every single one of them beautiful, physically flawless, she had no doubt. In stark contrast to her.

She was jerked out of her despondent thoughts by the distant sound of a knock on her door followed by the sound of voices and then her dad's voice calling, "Katie, I'm back. Are you okay? Do you need a hand?"

She sternly shoved the self-pitying thoughts to the back of her mind and firmly closed her closet door after retrieving her bathrobe. "I'll be out in a minute, Dad," she answered, raising her voice a little.

Her bathrobe was the last item and she closed her bag, automatically reaching for the handle only to realize belatedly that lifting or carrying anything was out of the question as a sharp stabbing pain sliced across her side, making her release the bag on a hiss. She collapsed onto her bed, shutting her eyes against the prick of stupid tears. Oh she hated this! She hated all of it, hated being so helpless, hated the constant pain, hated how careful she needed to be in every movement, hated the exhaustion.

"Castle." She couldn't remember consciously deciding to call for him; maybe it hadn't been conscious so much as it had been almost instinctive, seeking what was possibly the single source of happiness in her life right now.

She hadn't thought to raise her voice but a moment later, she heard a tentative knock on her bedroom door. "Beckett? Did you call me?"

"Come in, Castle."

He hardly waited for the words to leave her lips before he was gently pushing her door open, his eyes immediately finding her and then hurrying forwards to crouch down before her. "Beckett?"

He reached out and curled gentle fingers around her hand and something in the warmth of his clasp, the look in his eyes, lifted her spirits just a little, almost as if a warm blanket had settled around her shoulders. It made it easier to manage a wan twitch of her lips. "I need a hand with my bag."

"Of course," he agreed readily. He straightened up, leaning in to brush his lips against her nose, a half-teasing little caress that had her lips curving almost in spite of herself. He retained his grip on her hand and she allowed herself to rely on his support a little more than usual as she stood up gingerly.

Her dad was waiting in her front room, concern etching his features although he made an effort to smooth it out once she appeared. "All set, Katie?"

She hesitated but finally, rather grudgingly, admitted, "I think I'd better take some pain meds before we leave." She might not want to admit it but her side still ached and she wasn't quite masochist enough to want to sit in a car for a few hours without anything to dull the pain.

Once she'd taken the pain meds, they left her apartment, her dad taking over locking it up while Castle was responsible for her bag. Once they regained the street, her dad reached for the bag, explaining, "I'm parked about a block away so why don't you two wait here while I bring the car around?"

Kate inwardly winced at the necessity of this but had to accept the sense in this and glanced at Castle to see that now that her departure was imminent, his expression had slipped into one that was so over-the-top and woebegone she felt an upwelling of tenderness in her chest, felt the silly urge to cuddle and protect him as if he was the little boy he rather resembled at the moment. She shifted closer to him to briefly rest her head against his shoulder, noting absently that with her wearing flat shoes, he was the perfect height to allow her to do so. "Don't look like that, Castle. This isn't goodbye, not really. I'll call you, I promise."

"I've just kind of gotten used to seeing you every day." He attempted to sound more cheerful.

"It'll just be for a few days, Castle." She offered a reassuring smile. "I'm not sure I want to go much longer than that without seeing you either."

That admission made him brighten, as she'd known it would. "I'll miss you too."

Her dad's car slowed to a stop before them, just on the other side of the parked cars. Castle didn't outright help her to walk the few steps, only rested his hand on her back, and then opened the passenger door for her.

She turned to face him and he drew her into his arms for a gentle hug before bending to brush his lips against her cheek, except she deliberately turned her face so his lips landed on her mouth instead.

"Let me know when you get to the cabin, okay?"

She nodded and mustered a smile for him. "I will. Good luck with your writing."

Something of a wry smile flickered across his lips and she guessed the irony of her—his muse, as he persisted in calling her—wishing him luck on his writing just before leaving him had struck him but he didn't comment. "Thanks."

She grasped his hand and let him support her as she carefully eased herself onto the car seat.

Castle bent, glancing across her to meet her dad's eyes. "Have a safe drive, Jim."

"Thanks for everything, Rick. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon." Her dad paused and then added, "I promise I'll take good care of her."

Kate huffed a little at this but Castle smiled. "I never doubted it. Take care, Jim. Kate." He rested a hand briefly on her shoulder, his voice softening on her first name turning it into another caress, before he stepped back and closed the car door.

Her dad preserved a tactful silence as they started the drive to the cabin. Kate turned her head as they merged into the traffic and her last glimpse of Castle was of him standing on the sidewalk, watching them leave. He looked very alone, a tall, solitary figure standing still in the normal bustle of pedestrian traffic.

Something like guilt tugged at her heart as she faced forward when she could no longer see him. What she needed was at war with what she wanted but, she reminded herself again, she would call him, often, and she would see him soon. It would only be a few days.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Thank you to everyone who's still sticking around and keeping this fandom alive.


	31. Chapter 31

Author's Note: I did say this wasn't going to be like canon, didn't I? As promised, Castle and Beckett aren't apart for long.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 31_

It was four days before Kate asked Castle to come out to the cabin.

Four days in which they talked every day, multiple times a day for that matter. From the first text she sent him to tell him she and her dad had arrived at the cabin and then later that night, the text she sent to tell him good night. She awoke in the mornings to find a text message from him wishing her a good morning and she never went to bed at night without sending him a text message wishing him a good night.

She was on bed rest in the cabin so she spent most of every day in her bed or on the couch. She read a little, slept a lot, and thought even more than that. Even so, she might have been more restless than she was if it hadn't been for Castle, who appeared to have made it his personal mission to keep her amused, much as he had in the hospital the last weeks. He sent her texts throughout the day, a sort of running commentary on his day, little jokes, things he saw or heard. Her life was, of course, much less interesting at the moment and provided little fodder for her to respond in kind but she did respond with comments and quips and some questions.

He sent her pictures of cute or funny things he saw or of his own life. He sent her pictures of himself and Alexis in laser tag gear, himself and Alexis outside Belvedere Castle in Central Park with the caption, _Castles at a Castle_. She'd laughed at that and responded, _Have fun storming the castle!_ To which he'd instantly replied with a picture of Billy Crystal and Carol Kane as Miracle Max and his wife in "The Princess Bride," the source of the quote.

He'd sent another picture one evening of Martha wearing a colorful robe and with a beauty mask on her face, clearly in full spate as she gestured dramatically with a wine glass, with the accompanying messages, _Don't tell my mother I took this picture_ and _my mother and her captive—but sadly not captivated—audience. _

She'd smiled and sent him a message of teasing commiseration, even as she found herself remembering the night more than two years ago when she'd first gone to the loft and glimpsed the real Castle, the one who played laser tag with his daughter, the one who lived with and indulged his mother, swanning around in a beauty mask. Her smile faded as she felt a pang of regret, for all the time they'd lost. What would have happened if she'd taken more time to see the real Castle years ago, if she hadn't been so quick to kick him out and slow to forgive him for looking into her mom's case? Would she and Castle have gotten together months, even years, before? Would it have been a short-lived affair or would they have had a real relationship? Would they still be together now or would any relationship between them have foundered and fallen apart over their differences, her own issues?

It was the sort of futile wondering about what-ifs and what-might-have-been she rarely indulged in but in these days at the cabin, she had nothing else to do but think and wonder, not only about Castle but about everything. The quiet solitude of the cabin always was conducive to contemplation and she needed that, even more than she'd fully realized.

The last month or so had been something like a whirlwind—a harrowing, devastating whirlwind in more ways than one—and she felt as if she'd been caught up in a tornado without so much as a moment to catch her breath, let alone really process everything. Since Montgomery's death—no, that wasn't the start. This had started days before that, when Lockwood had murdered Gary McAllister. Or maybe it had really been months, week after week of her going to see Lockwood in prison, a waiting game with the devil.

Captain Montgomery's death had acted as a period, a momentary pause, but it had really only been the end of the first act, or something. She had not even had time to really process his betrayal or her own grief because she and the boys had immediately focused on doing what they had to, to protect his reputation and his legacy.

And—of course—there had been Castle's return. A spark of warmth kindled inside her chest at the thought of Castle. His return to pay his condolences had been the single best thing that had happened in those bleak days following Montgomery's death but even so, she had to admit that his return had overturned her emotional applecart, so to speak. Revived all the emotional confusion that Castle had always seemed to bring out in her, putting the lie to all her vaunted control.

Then there had been Montgomery's funeral—and what had happened to her. Since then, she hadn't been in any physical condition to think clearly, let alone emotionally come to terms with everything that had happened in rapid-fire succession. As if her physical incapacity weren't enough, there had been the emotional turmoil surrounding her relationship with Castle and then Jordan Shaw's visit and the accompanying revelations about her mom's case. Singly, every one of those things would have been enough to send her reeling emotionally; combined, she rather thought the only thing that had kept her from exploding or otherwise breaking down completely had been the foggy state the pain medication had left her in, blurring the edges of whatever she felt.

But now, the dosage of pain meds was lower and her mind correspondingly clearer. At the cabin, on bed rest, she had little else to do but think and remember and try to come to terms with everything—well, mostly everything. She was still careful to skirt around directly confronting what had happened at the funeral and with her mom's case—both were too raw. She had a few nightmares which she thankfully didn't remember in any detail except that they usually involved shots ringing out in a dark airplane hangar or shots ringing out under a bright blue sky—or the quiet nightmares, the ones that were about flashing knives in a dark alley. She flinched and deliberately moved her mind away. She couldn't think about all that now, not yet.

Fortunately—or not—she had plenty of other food for thought in what had happened lately. So think, she did.

The short space of time before Montgomery's funeral had been something like the calm at the center of the storm, had allowed her to at least begin to process what she felt over the truth of Montgomery's past and his death. So in one limited sense—when it was detached from the larger conspiracy of her mom's case—that was the easier issue. Kate was realist enough, cynical enough, not to be surprised to find someone, even someone who had been a mentor and a friend, had feet of clay so accepting Montgomery's checkered past, the mistakes he'd made, she could do. Not without hurt but she could accept it. And ultimately, she knew that what Captain Montgomery had done for her, the kind of mentor and teacher and friend he had been, outweighed his past mistakes.

Her grief over his death was harder and would linger for a while but if there was one thing Kate remembered, it was mourning a loved one so she could accept the lingering pain. And she remembered, too, that even at the end, Montgomery had made a plan to bring Castle back into her life, ensure she would not be left entirely alone and desolate after his death.

Her cogitation did seem to circle back to Castle again and again. The best part of her life right now, their relationship her main source of happiness, and yet…

Kate sighed and at another time, she might have flopped back onto her bed but in her current state, she had to gingerly shift and slide until she was once more lying down. She turned her head to look at her phone, lying on the nightstand by her bed, and found herself absently running her hand over Dot's soft, furry head. (She had not kept a stuffed animal on her bed in almost 20 years but these days, it sometimes seemed as if Dot was the most comforting thing in the cabin.)

She needed it, this time of quiet, this space to think and process everything. But she was becoming more aware with every hour, every day, that this interlude of sorts was all about her. He missed her, was not really happy to be so far apart from her. He had only said he missed her outright once and there hadn't been a shred of reproach in his tone. He limited himself to telling her at the end of every phone call (and over text message too) that he wasn't sick of hearing from her yet; it had become something of a running joke between them.

Whenever their phone conversations were winding towards an end, he would joke, "Still not sick of you, Beckett," or words to that effect.

And she would respond, "I guess I'll have to keep trying."

Sometimes he would make a quip about her stubbornness and she would respond in kind, their usual back-and-forth repartee.

He was very much his usual funny, good-humored self but every once in a while, almost always when she referred to anything about her current condition, she caught some hints of strain in his tone or he let slip a few words and Kate was detective enough and knew Castle well enough to guess that he was trying not to let her know how much it was bothering him to be so far from her at such a time.

And that was the problem. She hated the thought of Castle being at all unhappy and she certainly didn't want him to sacrifice his wants for hers. But she also knew that this time she'd asked for wasn't some whim on her part; she had always been someone who needed a certain amount of quiet time and space and yes, it was true that she had also become very accustomed to being alone in the last few years and more.

She cared about Castle—perhaps more deeply than she was prepared to admit right now—enjoyed his company, liked being with him and of course, god knew, she was definitely attracted to him.

And she knew he cared about her. (He loved her, a voice in her mind reminded her—not that she could ever forget.)

But wasn't there a saying to the effect that sometimes love wasn't enough? She inwardly flinched, recoiling at the very thought, but the fear lingered. Because this was what she'd feared, wasn't it, that she and Castle were too different to really make things work? He was a people person and she was not. He was accustomed to living much of his life in the public eye due to his fame and she was intensely private and hated the idea of publicity; the proverbial 15 minutes of fame she'd received for being the inspiration for Nikki Heat had been quite enough for her.

They were both stubborn, both strong-willed, and they were both good at hiding vulnerabilities and fears behind humor or by otherwise deflecting attention. They both had lingering wounds and issues from their pasts. Would their differences and rough edges mean they would always clash or would they—could they—find some way to fit together, like puzzle pieces?

Of course, for all their differences, they had found a way to work together before, had made a surprisingly effective team, at least where solving cases was concerned. Surely they could find a way to translate that into life too. She felt a spurt of hope.

Really, they were both adults and perhaps most importantly, as her dad had already told her, every relationship had its challenges but the question was whether both sides made an effort, whether there was enough trust to allow for communication and compromise.

Compromise—she had taken four days of quiet time to think and while there was more for her to process, what had happened to her and all the complications and ramifications of Jordan Shaw's revelations about her mom's case were not things she could process in a day or two. She wasn't ready to even begin really thinking about all that. She still needed more time, perhaps a lot more time.

What she needed was one thing; what she wanted was another.

Because she did miss Castle. She liked talking to him, his quick wit and ready humor, his intelligence and understanding, even his silliness had become endearing. She liked the sound of his voice, the sound of his laugh, but she'd found it wasn't the same as being able to see him. She missed the brightness of his eyes, missed the way he looked at her sometimes as if she was all he would ever want to see, missed seeing the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the quirk of his mobile lips. She missed his scent and his warmth and yes, she missed his kisses.

Oh, she wanted to see him again, wanted to be with him again. And it was what he wanted too. And she was starting to realize that what he wanted, what would make him happy, mattered more to her than just about anything else.

Four days was enough.

Her decision made, Kate reached out to pick up her phone and sent Castle a text, just the address of the cabin, smiling to herself. Not only because she knew he would understand without more but also because she knew this message would make him happy.

His response was immediate and direct as her phone rang with the caller ID showing Castle. "Hey, Castle."

For once, he didn't bother with niceties such as a greeting, only asking, "Kate, does this mean what I think it does?"

"I thought you, as a writer, would be better at reading between the lines," she teased.

"You know what they say about assuming."

A brief laugh escaped her. "That may be true in general but I think we know each other well enough by now to make a few assumptions okay."

"Well, I try not to assume anything where you're concerned."

There wasn't even a particle of reproach in his tone; he spoke lightly as if it was mostly in jest but it occurred to her, again, that she needed to be better about being more open with him. She was too used to deflecting, hiding behind their usual banter, and he deserved better than that. She sobered. "I miss you," she admitted, not entirely easily. "So I was wondering if you could come out to the cabin, if you're okay with leaving Alexis for a few days."

"Yes," he agreed immediately, almost before the words were fully out of her mouth. "Alexis will be fine. My mother can look out for her or Alexis will look after my mother, either way. Can I bring you anything? Coffee?"

She made a face, even though she knew he couldn't see it. "I wish. The doctor said I shouldn't have caffeine for at least another couple weeks."

"Why, Beckett, how are you surviving without caffeine for so long?" he asked in tones of exaggerated horror.

She had to laugh at his melodrama. "Not happily, I can tell you that, but I am surviving."

He heaved a sigh of histrionic relief. "Whew. I thought you might turn into something green and scaly if you were deprived of coffee for too long. I guess I was wrong."

"Such flattery, Castle," she said dryly. "Are you saying you wouldn't like me if I were green and scaly?" she quipped.

"Um, I think I'll plead the Fifth on that."

"Uh huh, your evasive maneuvers can use some work," she drawled.

"Are you offering to help? I hear you've had some tactical training."

"I'll think about it. I seem to remember that you don't listen to instructions very well."

He laughed. "You might have a point. Anyway, Beckett, not to cut you off but Alexis is calling. She wants my help in making dinner."

"Okay, have fun and say hello to Alexis and Martha for me."

"Sure thing. I'll see you tomorrow."

She smiled. "Yeah, see you tomorrow," she agreed quietly, even as she felt a silly, giddy thrill. Tomorrow, she would be seeing Castle again tomorrow!

* * *

For all that she was expecting and anticipating Castle's arrival at the cabin, he still managed to surprise her.

She had just made her slow, cautious way out to the kitchen where her dad was starting to prepare lunch for them when she caught the faint sound of a car, the crunch of the loose stones of the driveway. And felt a spike of unease. It wasn't—it had to be too early for it to be Castle. She wasn't expecting him for another couple hours, considering how long it took to get here from the city.

She glanced at her dad to see that he too had heard the car but he, at least, only appeared mildly curious, not alarmed. "Could that be Rick already?"

"I doubt it." She moved to glance through the front window to see an unfamiliar car, not a reassuring sight, but then she saw the familiar insignia on the hood of the car. It was a Mercedes. "I guess it is Castle." She hadn't known he had a Mercedes but it didn't exactly surprise her either.

"You go and greet him, Katie. I guess I'd better hurry up with lunch for three. After the drive, I imagine Rick will be hungry."

She stepped out onto the front porch, not bothering to close the door behind her. It was Castle, just sliding out of the car. She peripherally noted that the car was a basic sedan, a more subdued design than she would have expected in him, rather than something more sporty, but the thought barely impinged on her consciousness. The rest of her was entirely focused on him, Castle.

She felt a rush of emotion, happiness and physical attraction and some wonder, and just barely stopped herself from hurrying towards him before she belatedly remembered her condition and stood still, let him come to her. Her eyes greedily drank him in, wondering a little idly if there would ever come a time when she would become inured to the sight of him. She doubted it. And she certainly was not at all inured to it now.

He was dressed more casually than she was used to seeing him, wearing a t-shirt rather than one of his usual button-downs, and while he certainly looked just fine in the button-downs, in a t-shirt where the cotton fabric clung lovingly to the outline of his broad shoulders, his chest, he looked… Her mouth went a little dry.

She tried and failed to control the size of her smile, knew she had to be practically beaming at him. "Castle, you're earlier than I expected." She did, at least, manage to sound her usual self.

She was aware that he was studying her just as eagerly as she had him, his eyes sweeping over every inch of her from head to toe, and she became abruptly and belatedly aware of her hair, oily and rather unkempt, the fact that her face was entirely bare and she was wearing only yoga pants and an old button-front shirt that had once belonged to her dad before it had become too faded and she had appropriated it as lounge wear because it was soft and comfortably loose on her. In the hospital, it hadn't mattered, even if she'd had a choice about her wardrobe, and she'd hadn't been in a condition to care about her appearance anyway. But now, back in the world, even in the seclusion of the cabin, seeing Castle for the first time in days and so joltingly aware of his looks, she was suddenly aware of how she must look. Nothing at all like the confident, put-together detective he had first met. And so different from the fashionable and beautiful women he was used to she might as well be a different species.

"Kate, you look—"

"Really bad, I know," she inserted, trying not to color or squirm or otherwise betray her sudden self-consciousness.

"No," he contradicted quickly. "You look a lot better, is what I was going to say, and you do. You look almost like you again." He stopped and made a rueful face. "That sounded better in my head."

The expression, the tone, the words were so endearingly him. She felt a surge of affection, drowning out her self-consciousness. This was Castle and he had already seen her at her worst.

He'd paused on the front steps of the porch but now he stepped up all the way, coming closer, so close she could almost feel the heat of his body, before he checked and hesitated. "Can I hug you? It won't hurt?"

In answer, she stepped forward, closing the distance between them, her hands automatically coming up to hold his waist as she buried her face in the curve where his neck met his shoulder. He responded immediately, his arms gently sliding around her, holding her, and she felt him release a gusty sigh against her hair, his whole body seeming to relax and curve into her. She breathed in the familiar scent of him and felt a little knot of tension she hadn't even realized had been there loosen and dissolve. She might have needed this, to be held by Castle, feeling so warm and cosseted and safe, more than she'd realized. A little odd, to be standing in his arms and only now become aware of just how much she had missed him.

She could have happily stayed just like that, in Castle's arms, for an hour but she was conscious of the open door at her back, the fact that her dad was inside and while she guessed he would be trying to give them privacy, he could hardly help being able to hear what they said and if he looked, see them too. So she only allowed herself a long moment before she somewhat reluctantly stirred and lifted her face and Castle took the hint, releasing her, brushing a kiss to her cheek before he stepped back.

"I needed that," he admitted, his voice quiet enough she knew only they could hear it.

She gave him a small smile. "Me too," she told him, equally quietly. And then added at a normal volume, "Do you have luggage? Why don't you bring it inside and I'll give you a tour."

"Oh, that reminds me, I brought something for you too." He turned and loped back to the car, reaching into the back seat and emerging with a duffel bag and what looked like a large, insulated bag for picnics.

She gave a little wave in a gesture of welcome as she stepped back into the cabin. "Come on in."

Castle followed her inside and she heard him close the door behind him while her dad turned away from the kitchen counter, hurriedly wiping his hands before he crossed the room.

"Rick, it's good to see you again. Glad you could join us."

Castle hurriedly dropped his duffel onto the ground to clasp her dad's hand. "Thanks for having me, Jim. I appreciate it and this looks like a great place to retreat and relax far from the madding crowd, as it were."

"How was the drive? You must have made good time, to get here so early."

"The drive was fine. I left early to try to beat some of the traffic and once I was out of the city, it was smooth sailing."

"Good, good. Well, I was just making lunch, nothing fancy, I'm afraid, but you're probably hungry after your drive. Katie can show you where to put your bag."

"That sounds good to me and actually, I brought some dessert for us." Castle accompanied her dad towards the kitchen area, opening the insulated bag to bring out a flat box, opening it to display what she could immediately see had to be gourmet cupcakes, six of them, neatly packaged in a box just for the purpose, allowing them to survive the long drive looking as if they were fresh from a display case.

"Well, that'll be a nice treat, won't it, Katie? Thank you, Rick." Castle closed the box and her dad accepted it, setting it to one side, before he glanced at her. "Why don't you show Rick to his room, Katie?"

"Yes, Dad," she agreed obediently. "Come on, Castle."

"Lead the way, Beckett." Castle paused only long enough to scoop up his duffel before he fell into step beside her.

The living area of the cabin was open, combining the kitchen, dining area, and a family room space where the couch was, leading to the French doors and the back porch. Off to the side was the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

Castle was carefully adjusting his steps to her slow ones. She opened the first door along the hallway and made a gesture for him to go in. "This will be your room if you want to put your stuff away. It's nothing much," she added, half-apologetically. The room was small with only a twin bed, a dresser, and a small nightstand and somehow looked more cramped to her own eyes with Castle's tall form inside.

"This is fine." He emerged from the room, meeting her eyes. "I'm just glad to be here, you know that."

This was the man who had volunteered to sleep on her couch for what would probably have been weeks in order to help take care of her, she remembered. He meant it; he really would be fine in the cabin's small guest room.

"The bathroom's right here," she indicated the next door before waving a hand to indicate the rest of the hallway. "My room is the one on the other side of the bathroom and then my parents—my dad's room is at the end of the hall." She stopped, briefly closing her eyes. She hadn't even thought, realized, but the reference to her parents' room had slipped out so easily. It was, she belatedly realized, the first time she'd had to show anyone else around the cabin since her mom's death. They didn't have a lot of guests here because this cabin had been where they'd come for family time and while they did have a few friends in the neighborhood, because they lived nearby, they didn't stay over.

And of course, the very walls of the cabin seemed to be permeated with memories of her mom. Here, more than anywhere else, it was hard to believe sometimes her mom was gone. Her dad had moved out of her childhood home, the apartment she had grown up in, shortly after her mom's death, unable to continue living there without her mom. But this cabin, he had kept.

It occurred to her, belatedly, that Castle was the first person she'd invited here, certainly the first significant other she'd invited. The first person she'd even thought to share this personal place with. The significance of the step hadn't occurred to her; she'd been focused on her recovery and what she needed but even if it had… well, she did trust Castle.

She felt Castle's fingers briefly curl around hers, giving them a little squeeze, and she looked up at him with a rather wan smile. "So that's the five-cent tour."

His eyes were soft with understanding but all he said was, "Thank you, Madam Tour Guide. I'll be sure to leave a positive review on the comment card."

She managed a small, real smile at this. "Come on. Lunch should be ready."

They returned to rejoin her dad, sitting down for a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches followed by the cupcakes Castle had brought for dessert. Kate didn't try to exert herself to talk much, was happy to leave Castle and her dad to hold up the brunt of the conversation, which Castle was, of course, very well able to do. He shared stories of some of Martha's dramas and Alexis's plans, allowing himself to pout a little over Alexis wanting to spend so much time with her boyfriend before he left for college.

She was aware that Castle was almost constantly glancing at her as they ate lunch and afterwards, when she and Castle moved to sit out on the back porch, directed there by her dad while her dad took care of cleaning up after lunch. She shot him a teasing little smirk. "You're staring, Castle, and it's still kinda creepy."

He had the grace to give a rather sheepish laugh and a shrug. "Guilty as charged, sorry. It's just… really good to see you."

She felt another tug of something like guilt, reaching out to take his hand. "I missed you too, Castle," she admitted quietly. She looked away, towards the woods behind the cabin. "Thank you."

She felt his quick glance but didn't meet his eyes. "For what?"

"For giving me space these past few days. I know it wasn't easy for you." Castle was always going to want to help, to take care of the people he cared about. It had been his motivation in looking into her mom's case two years ago and she knew how much he wanted to be here for her now. She could understand it, that wish to be the proverbial knight in shining armor. She knew she wasn't good at letting other people take care of her but she would need to try to get better at that. And on the other side, she also knew that what was much harder was to step back and allow someone to help themselves.

He was silent for a moment and she finally glanced at him to see that he, too, was looking out towards the woods, looked thoughtful. "I do understand that you have a lot to think about. It's been… well, a lot has happened, I know that. It's a lot to process."

"I still have more to think about and work through. But I was thinking, maybe I don't need space quite so literally. I could try to work through things with you around, see if we can make it work together?"

Now he turned to meet her eyes. And smiled, one of his real soft smiles that had no hint of a smirk or teasing. "Yes," he said simply. "That sounds good to me."

She returned his smile.

They stayed out on the back porch for a little while longer, holding hands, without saying anything more. But then, for the moment, the important things had already been said and for the rest, they had time.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.


	32. Chapter 32

Author's Note: I have to say, thinking and writing about Caskett might have been the best part of this week.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 32_

Kate emerged from her room slowly, hiding a little wince at the added stiffness that she refused to call pain she always felt when she once again had to move after being asleep. She hated the way her body didn't obey her commands anymore, hated the way she couldn't rely on her own body again.

She tried not to dwell on it as she made her way out to the main living area of the cabin, a little surprised to find her dad alone, seated on the floor, his back against the couch, listening to the Mets game on the radio while he organized his box of fishing gear. She hid a smile at the sight; it was one of her dad's usual tasks when he wanted to keep his hands busy without expending much thought. Her mom used to tease her dad over it, his unending devotion to keeping his fishing box neat that somehow didn't extend to doing chores around the house quite so readily.

"Hey, Dad. That box isn't neat enough already?"

Her dad turned his head to see her. "Katie, you're up. How was your nap?"

"Fine," she answered, as usual. "Where's Castle?"

Her dad shot her a rather knowing little smile that had her fighting back a flush but he answered blandly, "Rick said he wanted to write so he retreated into his room."

"Oh." Kate sat down on the couch, feeling a little nonplussed at this news. Which was absurd of her, of course. She shouldn't be surprised that Castle was writing; it was his actual job so of course he would need to write. She just… hadn't really considered it or the time Castle would spend on it. She had been rather spoiled, had gotten accustomed to having Castle's attention whenever he was around. This sort of… absent presence, if that made any sense, was a little strange but of course, writing generally was a solitary occupation. Silly of her, never to have considered that aspect of Castle's life. But then she'd never really seen that part of his job; the only part of his job she'd seen were the publicity aspects, the interviews, the book signings, the book launch parties.

It belatedly occurred to her how odd and, well, uneven their knowledge of each other's lives was. Castle was familiar with every aspect of her work life and was learning more about her (limited) personal life, thanks to his growing friendship with her dad. She'd seen his home, knew his family, and if anyone had asked her before, would have said she knew about his work too because of her familiarity with his books and, yes, the publicity. But now, it occurred to her that after all, the publicity was only a small portion of his job; the real work that went into his books—the plotting, the writing, the editing—what did she really know about it? Not much. And she wanted to know, not out of any idle curiosity, but because it was about Castle. His writing, his work, was important to him so she wanted to know about it, wanted to know him.

And if she felt a little (a very little) fangirl-ish thrill inside her at the idea of learning more about the behind-the-scenes, the process, that had gone into some of the books she loved so much… well, that was just an added benefit.

"So I guess you're stuck with just your old dad for company, until Rick finishes his writing."

"I'm happy to be stuck with you, as you put it," she returned her dad's smile. "How are the Mets doing today?"

"They're up, 5-4, but it's only the 6th inning," her dad started before giving her a quick summary of what had happened in the game so far, his lawyerly mind neatly recounting the important parts.

She easily fell into baseball talk with her dad, memories of the games they'd gone to together over the years sliding through her mind.

"I didn't realize you're such baseball fans," Castle interjected and they both turned to see that Castle had emerged from his room. His hair was messy as if he'd been running his hand through it and he was blinking, rather as if emerging into strong light, and she guessed he really had been focusing on his writing.

"It runs in the family," her dad answered. "My own dad loved baseball and he got me into it."

"And then Dad infected me with his interest in baseball," she inserted, throwing a teasing smirk at her dad.

Her dad chuckled. "All right, I admit that I dragged you into liking baseball too, Katie." He shrugged. "I wanted to have some company at the games since your mom didn't like coming with me."

Kate shared a smile with her dad. "Oh, I didn't mind." She returned her attention to Castle as he joined her on the couch. "So yes, we are baseball fans."

"What about you, Rick? Do you like baseball?"

"I have to admit I'm only a casual fan at best. I only really learned about most sports, including baseball, as an adult. Growing up in the theatre world, thanks to my mother, I wasn't exposed to the usual sports and I was never much of an athlete myself. But," he added, "if you're baseball fans, remind me to introduce you to Joe Torre, the next time he's in town."

Her dad's eyes went wide as he exchanged a glance with her. "You know Joe Torre?"

"Joe and I are old friends," Castle said with a casualness that made Kate blink. How could he sound so blasé about knowing Joe Torre?

"You are?" she blurted out. "I saw him in person last year, during the Cano Vega case, just in passing in the hallway, but I didn't know you knew him." She left unsaid that she'd been star-struck enough to sneak a picture of him on her phone, although she'd been too conscious of being on duty to try to ask for an autograph.

"You worked on the Cano Vega case? That's so cool. I wish I'd been there for that. Although," Castle hurriedly added, sobering, "what happened to him was a terrible tragedy. And yes, I've known Joe for years."

"How?" her dad asked, eagerness overriding his manners.

"I first met him at the parties the Mayor gave for the Yankees after they won the World Series and it turned out that he and his family were fans of my mother and some other relatives of his were fans of my books so we got to know each other better. My mother got him and his family tickets to her next show and then I invited him and some guests to a couple of my book release parties." Castle shrugged, as if it was an everyday occurrence to be on familiar terms with a sports legend. Which, she supposed, to Castle, it really was.

That was certainly an unanticipated benefit of dating Castle. The thought darted into her mind and she fought back a blush. That wasn't why she wanted to be with him.

"Oh, now you're definitely welcome to stay," her dad quipped. "In fact, Katie, I think you should keep him around for a while."

"Dad!" Now, she did blush, her dad's joke hitting a little too close to home and she abruptly remembered what Castle had said about women being interested in him for his connections.

But Castle only laughed. "Good to know I can be useful for something," he joked.

He was joking but Kate shifted her hand over to loosely curl two of her fingers around his, letting touch provide any reassurance he might need.

Her dad thankfully didn't seem to notice and shared his memories of watching Joe Torre manage games, while Castle was encouraged to expound on his more personal interactions with the man, which he readily did.

Castle was, of course, a raconteur par excellence but after a little while, her dad somewhat reluctantly cut him off. "I would love to hear more about this, Rick, but I actually wanted to make a quick run to the grocery store. I didn't want to leave while Katie was asleep but now that you're here to keep each other company, I'll go and be right back."

Castle readily agreed, while it occurred to her that having Castle around would be good for her dad too because she knew he hadn't wanted to leave her alone for even a short time so the necessary grocery store run after their arrival had been very rushed. Castle's presence would allow her dad to relax a little more.

Left alone, Kate turned to Castle, remembering her earlier thoughts. "How did your writing go?"

"It's fine."

She blinked at this uncharacteristic terseness. Was something wrong, for him not to want to talk about it? She remembered his mentioning that he'd had writer's block for a long time after he'd finished his last book. "No more writer's block?" she ventured, a little cautiously. She, of all people, didn't want to pry, but…

"No, the book is coming along," he answered with more ease, reassuring her a little. But these brief answers were not like the Castle she knew, the one who talked too much rather than too little. Although, it occurred to her that Castle's usual prattle was, well, just that, mostly meaningless patter, not much about himself, not really, his displays of egotism notwithstanding. He didn't share easily either, did he?

"You know you can talk to me, right?" she offered, not exactly smoothly. When it came to personal relationships, avoidance and evasion were more her usual M.O., not direct questioning. But then, she'd always been happy to keep people—boyfriends—at a distance before.

Now, he threw her a smile. "I know." He paused. "You really want to know about my writing?"

"Would I have asked if I didn't?" She had a bad habit of deflecting by answering questions with questions. She tried again, managing a small not-quite-teasing smile. "You seem to find my work endlessly fascinating; can't I be interested in yours?"

"Yeah, but your job is cool."

"Some might say being a mystery writer is cool too. Besides, I do read your books, remember?"

A smirk tugged on his lips. "That's right, you are a fan, aren't you?"

"And you're being evasive," she countered. "Come on, Castle, talk to me. You don't have to give me any spoilers for the next book," she added teasingly.

His smirk softened into a smile as he clasped her hand more fully. "No, you're not the type of person who'd want spoilers," he agreed. "The book really is coming along. The drive gave me some time to think out a few things so I wanted to get them down before any more time passed."

"How does that work? Weren't you focused on the road?"

"Well, yes, of course, but once I got out of the city and on the highway, it's a lot easier and I've gotten pretty good at paying attention to something with half of my brain and letting ideas and scenes percolate in the other half. Because of Alexis, you know," he added in brief explanation.

Now that she thought about it, she could understand that. It was something else she hadn't really considered, how he would have managed to write while also raising his daughter alone, especially when Alexis had been younger and needing more constant care and supervision. "How did you manage when Alexis was little?"

His expression softened as it always did at the mention of his daughter. "I lucked out with Alexis so it wasn't as hard as you might think. For the most part, I just got used to writing at odd hours, at night when Alexis was asleep. During the day, when I was busy with her, sometimes I managed to jot a few things down but at other times, I just had to store it in my head until Alexis was asleep."

"So you can write mentally first and then put it on paper later?"

"Sometimes, yes. It's not always quite so easy; I admit there are times I've thought out scenes that struck me as being absolutely brilliant but then when I tried to write it out, I couldn't remember all that I'd thought out earlier and just didn't manage to recapture the earlier moments of genius." He paused before joking, "If it weren't for those lost, forgotten pages, I'd definitely have won the Nobel Prize in literature by now."

She laughed. That sounded more like the Castle she knew, even as she found herself intrigued, even fascinated, by this glimpse into his actual writing process, the part of his life she'd never seen.

"Later, as Alexis got older, I could write during the day while she was in school. I just had to make sure to set alarms to remind me when it was time to pick her up."

"That sounds like the voice of experience."

He made a rueful face. "You're right, as usual. There were a couple times when I got too caught up with what I was writing that I was late to pick Alexis up." He mentioned three occasions specifically, with a little twist of his lips that told her that those times probably bothered him more than he was admitting. "But," he quickly added as if to defend himself against some unspoken criticism, "I always made it up to her afterwards with ice cream or presents or something."

She hesitated for a moment, not wanting to mention what might be something else that bothered him. "What about when you get stuck, writer's block?"

He grimaced. "The curse of every writer. For the most part, if I get stuck on a particular scene, I skip it and move on to the next part and then go back to it later. And other times, when I get really stuck, I put it aside entirely, stop writing and do something else for a while. Cooking can be good for that, I found, it keeps me busy but also leaves just enough of my mind free that ideas and words start to fall into place."

"That's interesting. It sounds like when a case has me stuck. Sometimes it helps to do something else and then come back to the murder board with fresh eyes."

He slanted a smile of camaraderie, the bond that came from shared experiences, at her. "True. We do both work with mysteries. It's just when I'm writing, I already know the ending and I have to figure it out from the other direction as it were."

It was why they'd made an effective team because he was good at constructing a story to explain the evidence that she found. Cops called it finding the motive but it was basically the same thing. She returned his smile. "You have the luxury of deciding what evidence is found whereas cops have to look for evidence on their own but I suppose the principle is the same because as someone once told me, there's always a story that makes everything make sense."

He grinned and leaned over to give her a smacking kiss on the cheek. "Very good, Detective."

She tried to tamp down on the silly flutter she felt at the spontaneous caress, all the more meaningful somehow because it was evidence of how much more at ease he felt with their relationship. "Speaking of mysteries, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, ask me anything."

She hesitated for a fleeting moment but she really did want to know. "Why did you kill off Derrick Storm?"

He gave a little surprised laugh. "That's what you want to know?"

"Yes. I just don't get it. You wrote more than 10 books about him and then suddenly decided to kill off your most successful character?" A character she had really liked too, but she didn't say that. Nor would she tell him that Lanie used to tease her by calling Derrick Storm her fictional boyfriend. (Oh, Lanie. Lanie had sent Kate several pointed looks in the hospital indicating that her reprieve as far as telling Lanie about the new developments in her relationship with Castle would not last for long. Kate made a mental note to call Lanie soon.)

"I killed off Storm because I got bored with him." He lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, grimacing. "I knew everything there was to know about him, down to every trick he had in his arsenal to outwit the bad guys. It was predictable; I always knew what he would do or say in any given situation. I was tired of writing about him because there was no mystery left."

She felt a little unease slither through her, even though she tried to tell herself it was nonsensical. Derrick Storm was fictional and she wasn't even Nikki Heat, not really. But he had been married twice before. Was this what had happened to his marriages, that he had gotten bored once he got to know Meredith and Gina too well? She didn't really think he was that kind of man and yet… "But we're talking about a character you created. Aren't you supposed to know everything about him?"

"Not really, not like that. I come up with a general plan but usually, the characters end up taking on a life of their own and a lot of times, while the general plot outline stays the same, when I sit down to write, the details of how the characters develop are a surprise even to me. With Derrick Storm, he wasn't a complex enough character so after a while—and honestly, it started a few books before I finally killed him off—there was nothing new to learn."

"I didn't think Derrick Storm was a boring character and anyway, people like to read about characters who are smarter and better than they are. It's what makes them heroes, that they show us what we would like to be."

He straightened up a little. "Maybe, but isn't a three-dimensional character a better hero than a cardboard cutout character?"

She felt a little thrill go through her, a visceral tug of attraction that, for once, had little to do with his appearance and everything to do with him, his mind. She liked this side of him, when he was intense, thoughtful. When he revealed the mind that had written so many books that had intrigued her, challenged her wits, for years. The side of him she had first gotten to know through his books that had made her want to meet him so much, the side that he usually hid so effectively behind his silliness and childish antics.

"If you want to put it like that, of course, but that doesn't mean you had to kill off Derrick Storm entirely."

He shot her a wry smile. "You should talk to Gina about this because she'll really give you an earful. It's probably lucky Gina and I were already getting divorced when I submitted the first draft of _Storm Fall_ because otherwise, I'm pretty sure Gina would have divorced me for killing off Storm."

She tucked this reference to Gina away. The subject of his marriages was one for another time. "She didn't approve of you killing off Storm?"

"It wasn't as if I asked permission. She would never have given it and she certainly hasn't forgiven me for killing off Storm yet. She's still on my case about it, trying to persuade me to bring him back somehow, say he faked his death or write a few prequels of sorts or something. She's even suggested the idea of a Derrick Storm comic book so it wouldn't technically be part of the book series but would still be able to capitalize on his popularity."

"You love comic books so wouldn't that be right up your alley?"

He slanted a teasing smile at her. "Why, Beckett, you sound rather excited about that idea. You're a geek too, aren't you?"

She tried not to blush. "That's not the point. It's not up to me; it's your decision."

"As my muse, I think you're entitled to an opinion."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Didn't I tell you not to call me a muse?"

He pretended to pout. "Fine, then, as a fan, you're entitled to an opinion." He paused and then added teasingly, "And as the girlfriend of Derrick Storm's creator, your opinion is even more important."

Oh lord, she was Richard Castle's girlfriend. (Would that ever stop sounding strange to her own ears?) She felt an absurd little flutter inside at the word, having him call her his girlfriend, so juvenile a term but still… She bit her lip to keep a silly smile from escaping, sternly controlling her tone. "Well, this fan wants to know what you think about it. Writing a comic book would certainly be different so won't that make it an interesting challenge?"

His gaze became somewhat distant, abstracted, as he considered it. "It would be different but I'm not sure it would be a good difference. At its best, I think of my writing as character studies into human behavior, looking into the heart of what makes people tick, exploring how and why even otherwise ordinary people can be driven to commit a heinous act…"

She wanted to kiss him. She really liked this side of him, listening to him talk about his writing like this, so… focused. But kissing him would distract him—and more importantly at the moment, she knew she wasn't in any physical condition to be able to surge forward enough to kiss him. Later, they had time.

He blinked. "I'm not sure comic books are a medium that would allow for that kind of character exploration but you're right, it would be an interesting challenge." His gaze returned to her again. "What is it? You're looking at me like I just sprouted a second head."

It was her turn to jolt out of her thoughts. "Oh, it's nothing. I just… I like you," she found herself blurting out inanely. "I like seeing you talk like this, like a writer."

Too late, she realized just how much she'd revealed and could see from his expression that he knew exactly what she meant. "Really?" he drawled, giving her a slow, very knowing smile. A slow, seductive smile. "So… you find writers attractive…"

Her lungs appeared to have forgotten how to function, her pulse skipping in response to his smile, his voice—just him. More importantly, she realized rather fuzzily, he had no physical limitations whatsoever so he could lean forward and close the distance between them.

And he was doing just that, slowly. "How very fortunate," he murmured in a voice that seemed to feather across her nerve endings and had warmth pooling low in her belly. "Since I happen to be a writer…" He was close enough now that she could feel the heat of his breath mingling with hers.

A little panting breath escaped her—betrayed her (not that he didn't already know exactly what effect he had on her). And then his lips were on hers and he kissed her. Soft and slow, his lips and tongue working over hers with a thoroughness that blanked her brain.

She vaguely registered the sound of a muffled slam and it was a couple seconds before her sluggish brain identified the sound as that of a car door closing. Car. Wait. Oh god. Her dad!

Castle jerked upright just as the realization hit her and if she hadn't been too preoccupied trying to cudgel her brain back into something resembling coherence, she might have been amused at how he practically leaped away from her, running a hasty hand down his face.

By the time her dad pushed open the door, Castle was almost jammed into the end of the couch, a decorous six inches and more of space between them.

"Hello, you two. I'm back," her dad greeted.

Castle all but flew off the couch. "Let me help you with the groceries, sir."

Castle was making a show of bringing in all the groceries so he missed her dad's quick glance but Kate saw it and fought a blush as her dad darted a too-knowing look at her that was immediately withdrawn. It was the 'sir' that had done it, she guessed, the overly-respectful address that Castle had stopped using with her dad weeks ago betraying them now. She was an adult, damn it; she shouldn't be blushing like some teenager having been caught making out. And really, her dad might guess but he hadn't actually seen anything so he didn't _know_.

Fortunately for her own composure and Castle's, her dad didn't comment or tease. "I got some steak that I thought we could throw on the grill for dinner, if that sounds okay with you."

"That sounds great. I do like a good steak," Castle hurriedly assured her dad. "Actually, I was just telling Kate that I like to cook and I've gotten pretty good at it, if I do say so myself, so I'd be happy to help out in the kitchen, if you don't mind, Jim."

"Mind? I'd be grateful for the help and I'm sure Katie would be too. I'm afraid my cooking skills are rudimentary at best so by now, Katie must be tired of my poor efforts."

"You're not that bad, Dad," Kate interjected truthfully enough. Besides which, it wasn't as if she had much appetite these days anyway. Why her appetite had deserted her along with her energy was a mystery to Kate but then, in so many ways, her own body seemed foreign to her these days, no longer responding to her wishes or commands the way it had before. She tried to tell herself it was part of the recovery process, which she supposed it was, but it didn't make the experience of the loss of control much easier to endure.

"Thanks for the offer, Rick."

"Oh, it's my pleasure."

With both Castle and her dad working together, the groceries were put away in short order and then Castle also insisted on assisting her dad with dinner. Kate guessed that by the time the evening was over, Castle would be quite as familiar with the kitchen as either she or her dad were. It was a little strange, to watch Castle at work in the kitchen which she still largely associated with her mom, making himself at home in this cabin that had always been her family's space. Stranger, too, to realize that he… fit somehow. The cabin was simple, even a little rustic by design, and was worlds removed from the expanse and luxury of the loft or of what she was sure Castle's house in the Hamptons had to be like, but somehow, he did fit. She'd always thought, feared, that she and Castle were from different worlds but with Castle here, it seemed their worlds were colliding, mingling, and maybe they weren't as disparate as she'd thought.

_~To be continued…~_

A/N 2: Thank you, as always, to all readers and reviewers.


	33. Chapter 33

Author's Note: This is a somewhat transitional chapter so it was harder to write but I hope it came out okay.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 33_

"Good morning, Rick. You're up early."

Castle startled a little, turning away from his absorption in studying one of the pictures on the refrigerator door. "Oh, good morning, Jim. I just started making coffee."

Jim joined him in the kitchen. "I see you're like Katie and me too for that matter in needing coffee first thing."

"Yes," Castle agreed. "Coffee was probably the first thing Beckett and I agreed on." Coffee had become oddly, or not so oddly, precious to him now, entirely aside from his reliance on the caffeine, as a symbol and reminder of Beckett. He could no longer drink coffee without thinking of her and suspected that would always be the case now, no matter what happened between him and Beckett. Not that he expected anything bad to happen, he hurriedly brushed away the thought.

"So you've said." Jim paused, his tone and his expression softening. "That picture is one of my favorites," he commented, nodding towards the picture Castle had been looking at a minute ago.

Castle tried not to fidget or otherwise betray his self-consciousness. He hadn't been prying, after all, the picture was in plain view on the refrigerator door. "I can see why," he rejoined quietly, rather cautiously. "It's a great picture."

It really was. Castle's eyes were drawn back to it, yet again. It was of the Beckett family, all three of them, together on a picnic blanket. Jim, looking very young and almost heartbreakingly happy, was sitting beside a laughing Johanna, one arm slung casually over her shoulders, and a very young Beckett—no, for once it didn't seem right to think of her as Beckett—Kate with a gap-toothed smile and her hair in pigtails, was sprawled across both her parents' laps. The picture seemed to have captured one of those magic, halcyon moments in life. Looking at it, Castle, with his vivid writer's imagination, could almost hear the sound of laughter, could easily imagine that the young Kate must have just been running and then returned to the blanket to collapse onto her parents' laps. Something in the careless childish abandon of her pose, the rosy color in her cheeks, the way strands of her hair had escaped and were straggling a little damply around her face, all suggested activity that had only just been paused.

It was a picture of a perfectly happy family, one that wouldn't have been out of place in a Hallmark movie. Looking at it, Castle felt his heart twist sharply at the thought of how brutally the family had been torn apart not that many years later. And what he was even less comfortable with, a completely unbidden, unwelcome, ignoble stab of something like envy and longing.

"I remember the day that picture was taken," Jim went on, reminiscently. "It was taken at a park not far from here. We'd gone there for a picnic for the Fourth of July with some family friends of ours. Peter Nealan took the picture; he and his wife still live nearby so you might get a chance to meet them this summer," he added as an aside. "Katie and the Nealan kids had been throwing a frisbee around."

"It sounds like a perfect day," Castle murmured, even as he sternly tried to ignore another tug of envy. If he could have somehow restored the Beckett family to wholeness by cutting off a limb, he would have done so in a heartbeat, he knew that. He was glad—really and truly—to think that Kate had grown up in such a happy family. He didn't—could never—begrudge her that, not only because he knew what had happened but because he loved her and he would always, always, want Kate to be happy. But the picture still tugged at him, as a reminder of what he himself had never really had and still wanted to be a part of. A stable, happy family, a mother, a father, and their children.

Castle was old enough, wise enough, cynical enough, to know what ugliness and sadness could often be concealed in such traditional families, just as he'd also seen enough to know that happy families came in all shapes and sizes, witness his own little pea pod, to borrow his mother's inimitable phrase. He knew all that but it didn't quite stop the longing, not so much for his own childhood than because it was what he'd hoped and wanted to give Alexis and had failed to do. A father's wishes for his child were more tenacious than any wishes for his own self. Especially because he knew, better than anyone, that Alexis had been hurt more than once by Meredith's careless version of love, her absentee parenting. And causing Alexis pain was always a much harder thing for him to forgive and come to terms with.

"Well, the Nealan boy got an upset stomach, I remember, because he insisted on continuing to run around just after eating and the grass stains on the kids' clothes at the end of the day were no joke to clean, from what Johanna said later, but other than that, it pretty much was."

Castle mirrored Jim's smile but his smile faded quickly at the mention of Johanna Beckett, struck all over again at how easily Jim could speak of his wife. He focused on Johanna Beckett's youthful face in the picture, a decade younger than he remembered seeing in the picture in her case file. In this picture, Johanna was little older than Kate was now and it made the resemblance even clearer. "She was beautiful," he said quietly.

"Katie always has been."

Castle inwardly winced a little. "I don't doubt that but I was actually referring to her mother," he clarified gently.

For a moment, something like pain flickered across Jim's face. "Yes, Johanna was beautiful," he agreed with studied calm. He paused and then forced a small smile. "And Katie takes after her, as I'm sure you can see."

"Yes, I can see that," he murmured. His eyes returned to the picture, the very young Kate. He'd never seen a picture of Beckett so young before, had not seen many pictures from Beckett's past at all, for that matter. It was almost mesmerizing, to trace in the softer, unformed features of the child the face of the woman she now was, the face he loved. But what struck him more was her smile. The resemblance between the child and the grown-up was, of course, clear to be seen but her smile was different and not just because of the natural loss of childish innocence and unself-consciousness.

Maybe it was because Castle was a father himself and he could trace the difference in Alexis's smile when he looked at Alexis's childhood pictures. But the change in Alexis's smile was just from growing up because Alexis was still, thank all the higher powers, happy and about as innocent as any modern teenager could be. (His heart clenched as he wished, fiercely and not for the first time, that he could always keep Alexis safe and sheltered from any harm, any exposure to darkness and evil and all bad things.)

All that Beckett had experienced, suffered, had necessarily left its mark on her face, not obviously, but Castle could see it clearly now, his eyes made sharper by love, and helped by the sight of the picture. He might be biased—well, he clearly was—but he rather thought Beckett was more beautiful because of it, the real, poignant beauty of someone who'd overcome so much pain. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, his writer's brain inserted, and then he pictured Beckett rolling her eyes at him because of course she would, if she ever heard the comparison.

"Katie smiles more when you're around, Rick."

Castle glanced quickly at Jim, his heart leaping. He had hoped that was the case but the reassurance meant a lot, especially from Jim, who would know better than anyone else. "That means a lot to me," was all he could say, rather lamely.

Jim smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're doing just fine, Rick. Now, I see the coffee is ready. How do you take your coffee? And if you're hungry, we may as well have breakfast too. Katie's been sleeping in, these days." He grimaced. "You might have guessed this already but Katie's normally a morning person, up bright and early, so the fact she's been sleeping as late as she is a sign of how far she is from being her usual self." He sighed.

"But she is recovering. I can see she's doing better than she was even a few days ago," Castle assured him with some forced brightness, although the words were true. "Here's your coffee, Jim," he hurriedly went on. "And I agree we should eat. Kate wouldn't want us to wait for her, I'm sure."

He and Jim settled to drink their coffees and then have breakfast, with Castle careful to keep conversation light, relating some stories from Alexis's childhood. The time passed companionably in the hour and more before Beckett emerged from her bedroom and it occurred to Castle, not for the first time, that he was very glad that he and Jim got along so well. Because they really did. And the more time Castle spent with Jim, the more he was realizing that he and Jim could be—maybe already were—friends, in a way that had little to do with their connection through Beckett herself. Friends, in a way similar to the friendship he'd had with Roy, he thought with a renewed stab of grief. He had lost a real friend in Roy Montgomery, one of the few true friends he had, but it appeared as if he had gained a new friend in Jim Beckett. And that was a pleasant thought.

* * *

Castle was deep in the middle of writing about Nikki Heat but his concentration was immediately shattered when Beckett stirred from her place beside him and he hurriedly finished up the sentence and saved the document. He was in the middle of a scene but he set aside his laptop without a second thought. No matter what, the fictional version of Beckett could not hold his attention compared to the real thing.

She blinked and made a small (adorable) face as she straightened up on the couch, turning to look at him. "Oh. Castle," she mumbled. She blinked a few more times, self-consciousness settling on her face. "I fell asleep, didn't I?"

She had. They had settled on the couch after lunch—Castle had cooked so Jim had insisted that he would do the cleaning up afterwards—and had been talking in desultory fashion. Castle had let it slip that he had bought a bar, the Old Haunt, when he'd heard that it had been up for sale after the murder of its owner and Beckett had told him what he hadn't realized, that she had been the one to work on that case. He'd been talking about some of the plans for renovations and other changes to the bar when Beckett's questions and comments had become fewer and he'd realized she was drifting off.

Not that he'd minded. He wasn't sure he would ever get over the so-precious thrill of knowing just how comfortable Beckett was with him, how much she trusted him. Even in her current physical condition, Castle could not believe that Beckett would doze off like this if she weren't totally comfortable in his presence. But she'd invited him here to her family's cabin—a place that was almost a shrine to the young Kate Beckett with the number of pictures around and he'd been hard pressed not to stare obviously at every single one of them—and considering her usual penchant for privacy, he knew just how much trust she was demonstrating just by inviting him here.

So no, he didn't mind. He'd been content to simply watch her sleep for a while, longer than he would admit to her, but then Jim had said that he thought he would go visit his friends, the Nealans, as he hadn't yet seen them in his preoccupation with Kate. And left alone, Castle had retrieved his laptop from his room and started to write.

That had been well over an hour ago.

"You did. Right in the middle of my fascinating plans for the Old Haunt too," he pulled a face of exaggerated injury.

She didn't smile, only grimaced. "I'm sorry, Castle."

"Well, fortunately for you, I'm such a generous person that I decided not to take offense because you're still recovering. I'm just that magnanimous, you know," he announced in a deliberately provocative tone.

Something that might have been a smile tugged at the corner of her lips but she didn't respond to his display of egotism and he inwardly frowned. Now he knew there was definitely something wrong. He hesitated, not sure if he should ask what it was that was bothering her or if he should leave it, wait a little. Beckett was, slowly, talking to him more but he was coming to learn that with her, it was better to wait and let her talk to him of her own accord rather than push. And at least, now, he could hope, believe, that if he waited, she would eventually talk, let him know at least something of what was on her mind. More hopefully, he thought he was getting to understand Beckett well enough that he could fill in the blanks of her often terse confidences.

"I didn't mean I was sorry for falling asleep on you, well, not really. I meant I was sorry for, well, this," she made a restless movement with her hands.

Okay, well, he liked to think he was starting to understand her but apparently, he still had a ways to go. "You're sorry for… what exactly?" he ventured cautiously. Confidences didn't come easily with Beckett and pushing could backfire on him. He was suddenly reminded—ridiculously—of the old childhood game, red light, green light, one, two, three—creeping forward and then freezing, being sent back to the starting line for moving too fast.

"This, me," she made another movement with her hands, more clearly gesturing to herself this time.

"For falling asleep?"

"No—yes! For everything, for being so pathetic!"

Oh, Beckett. He understood now. He suppressed a sigh. He had hoped they were past this but he supposed he'd been overly optimistic. This was Beckett and she was always so hard on herself, expected more from herself than anyone would ever expect of her.

"I invite you out here and then I can't even talk to you without falling asleep! I can't _do_ anything, just lie around all day. I'm a terrible host." She paused and then muttered, "It's not fair to you, having you drive all the way out here, and then not even being able to stay awake to listen to you."

"You know, Beckett, contrary to popular belief, I'm not a child. You don't need to keep me entertained and for that matter, I didn't come here expecting to be entertained."

She made a rueful face, reaching out to squeeze his arm briefly. "I know that, Castle. You're being so great and I appreciate it, I really do, but that doesn't make it fair."

"I don't want you to be grateful!" he bit off, more sharply than he intended. He forcibly got his tone under control, softening it. He didn't want to argue with her; for one thing, rousing Beckett's temper didn't often go well. And if it came to that, they'd already had this argument, didn't need to recreate it. "I knew what I was doing when I came here. I came here to spend time with you, that's all, and that's more than enough for me. You don't have to try to amuse me or anything, just be you, be here. I missed seeing you." He had also been worried about her but he decided not to mention that right now. She didn't need a reminder of her physical condition.

Her expression had changed, cleared at least somewhat. She was listening. He deliberately changed his tone, made it teasing, pasting on one of his usual smirks. "Besides, I like to watch you, remember? And when you're asleep, I can stare at you to my heart's content." He added a little bit of a leer to his smirk.

It worked. She rolled her eyes, that little reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "Oh right, how could I forget, Creepy," she drawled.

He could have cheered. There was the Beckett he knew and loved. Of course, he did no such thing, wanting to keep their banter going. Instead, he favored her with an exaggerated pout. "I'm not creepy, I'm charming, ask anyone."

"Fine, I'll ask Perlmutter if he thinks you're charming," she responded immediately, not missing a beat. His quick-witted Beckett.

"Perlmutter doesn't count. He's not human."

She pretended to think about it. "You might have a point." He knew her too well to think she meant it. "I'll just ask Espo if he thinks you're charming."

He made a face and she smirked at him, so adorably smug, in having effectively got the better of him in that exchange, since they both knew Espo would sooner become a monk than call Castle charming. Castle gave in and laughed before surging forward to kiss the smirk from her lips. Because he could do that now.

She blinked and tried to narrow her eyes at him. "You know, kissing me is not a way to have the last word."

"Sorry," he said, entirely unapologetically. "I couldn't resist."

"Uh huh, sure," she responded dryly, only the barest twitch of her lips betraying her amusement.

"Or you can consider it a thank you," he added brightly. "You'd be surprised how inspiring you are when you're asleep. I got quite a bit of writing done during your nap."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I know I said I was interested in your writing process but I'm not sure I want to know how I inspired you when I was asleep."

"What can I say, I guess you're just that good of a muse," he said airily, even as he felt a flare of warmth in his chest at the memory of her asking him about his writing yesterday.

He loved her for that too, he thought, for caring about his writing the way she did. She had looked almost… fascinated and it had been a little strange and exhilarating to see. He was so used to finding her fascinating but to think she might find him, his writing process, just as interesting… He wasn't sure anyone had ever wanted to know about the way he wrote, not really. Most fans—most women—were only interested in the more glamorous parts, the publicity, the book parties. But the actual work that was involved, not so much. He could understand it; writing was largely a solitary process and it was hard to explain anyway. He wasn't sure he'd ever really tried to put his mental process into words before, hence his stalling and stuttering like an idiot at first. And he hadn't realized until she'd asked how much it would mean to have someone care.

He had talked about his writing with Gina, of course, but she'd been interested in the result, not the process, and with her, it had been her job and even when they'd been together, even when they were married, she'd always listened to him talk about his writing and responded in her professional capacity. He hadn't felt as if she listened because she cared about him as a person. With Beckett, it was different.

"Or you're just that freakish."

"Hey! I take offense at that."

"What has Katie said now?"

They both turned sharply at the sound of Jim's voice. Oh right, Castle belatedly remembered that Jim had mentioned the Nealans lived about a mile away so he didn't often drive.

Jim smiled, looking quietly pleased, and Castle remembered what he'd said that morning, about Beckett smiling more. "Did you have a nice nap, Katie?"

"I did, thanks. Did you go see the Nealans?"

"Good guess, Katie, or did Rick tell you?"

"He didn't have to, Dad. I didn't hear a car and they're the only people who live close enough to walk to."

Jim laughed. "Of course. Why did I even ask, detective that you are?"

"And a very good one at that," Castle interjected. Jim met his eyes in a moment of oddly shared pride. Because Castle loved that too, loved Beckett's cleverness, just as he'd always loved watching her work.

"How are the Nealans doing?" Beckett jumped in. Jim joined them in the sitting area and Castle tried to fade into the background as the two Becketts talked, with Jim passing on all the news about the Nealans and their kids. It was interesting watching Beckett with Jim, especially here in the cabin, that must hold so many memories. She was softer when she talked to her dad, looked younger. Not so much Beckett but Kate.

He'd fallen in love with the kickass detective but he found this softer version of her just as compelling. But then he doubted there was any facet of Beckett's character he wouldn't find fascinating.

* * *

Castle was smiling as he ended his call with Alexis but then the smile faded a little. Alexis had mentioned that she had a date with Ashley tomorrow evening and the mention of his daughter's boyfriend—he grimaced at the term—had him doubting how long he would feel comfortable leaving Alexis to his mother's somewhat dubious chaperonage. He trusted Alexis and even liked Ashley to a point, about as much as he could like any boy his daughter dated at this stage, but his mother was much more laissez faire in her parenting style than he was or could feel comfortable with being.

He glanced back through the window into the cabin to where Jim and Beckett were talking, watching as Beckett laughed at something Jim said. Something inside him eased at the sight of Beckett laughing; just seeing her in person, spending the past two days with her, had been what he needed. But now, he felt torn, pulled between his love and his responsibility for his daughter and his love for Beckett.

But Beckett wasn't alone here; she had Jim with her. And this time, he felt more confident that even if he left to return to the city and Alexis, he and Beckett would stay in contact and he could, after all, return here to the cabin in another few days. It was already clear that he would have to split his time between the cabin and the city while Beckett was out here. But maybe, he didn't need to stay here for long, especially not so early in Beckett's recovery. Right now, as Beckett herself had pointed out earlier, there was little he could do to help her aside from keep her company and cook for her. Later, as she became more mobile, he would, he thought, be able to help her more, be there to prop her up, support her, as she worked to regain her strength.

Nothing had been said but perhaps, this first visit here could be truncated a little so he could leave, even as early as tomorrow. And after all, he didn't want to out-stay his welcome.

Later, he wasn't sure what prompted the impulse to call Ryan but whatever had prompted it, the impulse arose and Castle obeyed it, always prone to impulsivity as he was.

"Hey, Castle," Ryan greeted. "Good timing. We were just thinking of calling you."

We? Castle frowned a little. He could guess Ryan was referring to Espo but the reason wasn't clear and he thought he detected a little trace of tension in Ryan's tone. Tension that seemed to leap across the phone connection and infect him too.

"You guys want my help on a case?" he joked, trying to dismiss his niggle of unease as a product of his overactive imagination.

Only for the niggle to become stronger as Ryan didn't laugh or otherwise respond to his tease, only asking, "Have you talked to Beckett lately? Do you know how she's doing?"

That could be it; Ryan was just concerned about Beckett, understandably, and that was what he heard in Ryan's tone. Or so Castle told himself. "Yeah, actually I'm with her right now, out at her family's cabin. She's recovering, slowly, but getting better. I'll tell her you and Espo were asking about her."

"Oh, you're with her now. That's even better."

Every instinct Castle had was now setting off alarm bells. "Better, why?"

"We've found something out that she should know."

Castle stiffened and moved away from the cabin another few steps to the edge of the porch steps, not because he needed to but because he suddenly felt as if putting even a little more distance between himself and Beckett might be a good thing. "What is it?"

"You're alone? You can talk now?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Are you guys somewhere private?" he asked, an edge entering his voice. He didn't really doubt the boys' discretion but it couldn't hurt to check and just ensure they all knew the level of secrecy required.

"Yeah, we're in the car. We're in the middle of another case but that's not the point. Look, you know we've been helping Agent Shaw out with her investigation."

Agent Shaw—again—which meant this was about Beckett's mom's case, her killer. Oh god. Castle felt a cold hand seem to reach inside and grab his heart in a vise. "Yeah, I know."

"She had us digging deeper into Dick Coonan, looking for connections between him and—"

"The Dragon," Castle supplied. It was as good a code name as any and he might be paranoid but he wasn't entirely comfortable saying the name—Bracken's—aloud over the phone. Not yet, at least.

"Right, him," Ryan agreed.

Castle felt something like a wave of cold numbness sweep over him, spreading outwards from his chest. No, no, he didn't want to hear this. He felt the irrational impulse to cut Ryan off, end the call, pretend it had never happened at all. Behaving like an ostrich with its head in the sand suddenly seemed surprisingly appealing. But instead, all he said, asked, was, "What did you find?"

"A connection," Ryan answered succinctly at first and then went on to explain.

Castle listened with growing apprehension clawing at him.

"We're going to call Agent Shaw tomorrow with an update but for this, we thought Beckett needs to hear it first. We weren't sure about bothering her right now but if you're there with her, that's even better. So you'll tell her?"

Castle shut his eyes, letting out his breath. "Yeah, I'll tell her," he agreed through lips that seemed to have gone oddly numb.

"Good. We're here if she has questions. And tell her we're glad she's doing better."

"Yeah, sure thing."

"And Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks. It's good—I'm glad—you're out there with Beckett, glad you're around for this," Ryan said a little hurriedly and awkwardly.

"Yeah, thanks. Good luck on the new case and talk to you later."

"Later, Castle."

Ryan ended the call and Castle slowly lowered his phone from his ear, sliding it into his pocket, as he stared unseeingly out towards the dark forest.

Ryan's words, his news, seemed to be bouncing around in his mind, crowding all else out, except for the fear, the dread, of telling Beckett.

Damn it, could she not be given any real respite? He was suddenly irrationally angry at Ryan, at fate, at whatever higher powers there were, for having this information come to light now. He hated—_hated_—the idea of disturbing what small measure of peace Beckett had managed to find in these last days of thinking. But he knew she didn't feel ready to really think about or come to terms with her mom's case; she'd let that slip once in their conversations and he could understand that completely. Her mom's case—the most private, the most painful, part of her life—and to have her understanding of the case upended so thoroughly by Agent Shaw's visit, and just at a time when Beckett's physical state was so weakened, was the last thing she needed. And it still was.

He didn't want to tell her, didn't want to hurt her as he knew she would be hurt by the news of this development.

He had a sudden flash of memory, of standing in a hospital hallway and telling Beckett, "It's about your mother," and seeing the way all color had drained from her face as she stumbled away from him. And then frozen him out afterwards.

He inwardly flinched at the memory. That was part of it too. The last time he'd told Beckett anything about her mom's case, she had kicked him out of her life and he hadn't seen her again until Montgomery's death had, essentially, brought them together again.

Now—now, when he and Beckett were so much closer—he didn't know for sure how she would react but he was afraid, terrified, that if he told her this, she would lash out at him.

This wasn't the same, he tried to tell himself. Before, she'd been angry at him for looking into her mom's case when she'd explicitly told him not to. Now, she trusted him more, had told him about her mom's case. Had let him stay in the room with her when Agent Shaw had talked to her. He was involved now.

But she hadn't asked him to check in with the boys about the investigation either. And he couldn't be quite sure of how she'd react to learning that he'd been the one to call Ryan, as if checking on the case behind her back.

He'd been mostly joking when he'd volunteered to bother the boys every day to check on the status of the investigation but now, the joke was on him. Why had he called Ryan anyway? Damn stupid curiosity. If he'd left it alone, let the boys be the ones to have contacted him, it would at least protect him from having it look like he was trying to meddle in the investigation without telling her.

Although, he reminded himself, the important thing was that he was here, with her, after all. He could tell her in person. She wouldn't be hearing about it over the phone and she wouldn't be alone when she heard it either.

He could help her, comfort her—if she let him. If...

He flinched again. Their relationship was still so new, somehow, felt fragile. As far as they had come, he couldn't feel entirely sure of her or of their relationship, wondered if he would ever feel confident in their relationship where her mom's case was concerned. And after all, this—her mom's case—was what had ripped them apart before.

Things were different now. They were closer now; she trusted him more now.

He just wished he could feel sure that it was enough. Would be enough to hold them together now, in the face of yet more devastating updates in her mom's case.

The thought was terrifying. He couldn't lose her, not now, not again. Not ever.

But it wasn't his fear for their relationship that had him hesitating, not really. It was the thought of her, of what this news would do to her.

He was desperate to protect her from anything that would hurt her but this wasn't something he could protect her from. This was her mom's case and as terrified as he was of bringing the subject up, he knew he didn't have a choice. He had to tell her and he had to tell her now; this wasn't the sort of thing he could keep to himself, any more than he could have kept secret what Clark Murray had told him two years ago.

He could not protect her from this—or really, from anything else. Beckett wasn't the sort of woman who wanted someone to ride up on the proverbial white horse and slay a dragon for her. No, she slayed her own dragons. All he could do was stand beside her as she did so, have her back. And if he was very lucky, when the battles were over, he could be the one she returned home to, the one she trusted enough that she wouldn't need her armor at all.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Apologies for the abrupt end to the chapter but the scene needed to be broken up at some point and before Beckett entered seemed the best option. Thank you, as always, to everyone who's still sticking with this story.


	34. Chapter 34

Author's Note: I tried hard to get this chapter right and am not sure how well I succeeded but I will leave that to you to decide.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 34_

"Castle? You've been out here for a while. Is Alexis okay?"

Castle felt his heart twist inside him. Beckett's tone was light; she sounded happy and he could see when he turned to look at her, silhouetted in the open doorway, that she was smiling, a small quizzical smile. "Can you come out here for a minute? We need to talk."

He almost winced at the caution with which she stepped outside, every movement she made so measured it almost hurt to see because it was so far removed from her usual confident grace.

"You're sounding very serious, Castle. Is something wrong with Alexis or Martha?" Her smile had faded into a look of concern for him and he inwardly flinched a little at this sign of how much she cared about him. And could only hope desperately that she would remember her feelings for him through these next few minutes.

"Alexis and my mother are both fine," he assured her quickly. "It's nothing about them." He hesitated and blurted out, bluntly because this wasn't something he could dance around, "I just talked to Ryan. He had some news, about your mother's case."

Even in the dim light, he could see the way she paled, heard her sharp intake of breath. She took a few unsteady steps to collapse onto one of the deck chairs and then winced sharply, her hand flying to her side. Any too-hasty movement pained her, he knew, and he had to fight to keep from reacting visibly.

He only moved to sit down on the other deck chair, facing her. He glanced down, hesitating, his hands starting to reach out to hold hers but before he could, she had pulled her hands in towards herself, wrapping her arms around her middle in a defensive posture. He told himself she hadn't deliberately rejected his touch. He really didn't think she had even noticed the movement of his hands, her eyes were too wide and too fixed so he suspected she wasn't seeing much of anything.

"Ryan called you?" she asked, her voice not sounding like herself. He knew she was focusing on this side issue to give herself another minute to steel herself to hear the real news but he almost winced again because he was almost as worried over how she would react to this tangential detail than the substance of Ryan's news.

"Actually, I called him," he admitted. "I just thought I'd ask if there was any news and he said he and Espo were just about to call themselves."

"They were going to call you first, not me?"

"They were worried about you."

"So they told you instead." It wasn't a question. In the dimness, he couldn't read her expression or her tone and he felt another spurt of nervousness that she would be angry at him and his lips parted on additional explanations or justifications or something but before he could say anything, she went on quietly, "What did they find out?"

A little of his tension loosened very slightly. She wasn't angry at him for calling, at least.

"Agent Shaw has had the boys focusing on Dick Coonan, looking to connect him with… the one behind all this."

"They found a connection." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah, they did," he confirmed. He hesitated again, trying to decide how to reveal the rest. Because it was the nature of the connection that would devastate her. They didn't know yet how Bracken had learned of Dick Coonan's existence or his work as a contract killer. That would require more digging into the backgrounds of both, the sort of thing that took more time to piece together.

"This connection… They're going to pass the information onto Agent Shaw but the boys agreed this was something you needed to hear first. It's about your mother." He winced a little at his inadvertent repetition of the same fateful—and fatal?—words from two years ago. He hadn't thought, too focused on what he needed to tell her.

She gave a little gasp, her form so still she could have been a statue but he could feel her tension almost vibrating off her. He wanted to reach out for her, hold her, but something in her posture made him hesitate. She seemed too… brittle somehow, as if her composure might shatter at a sympathetic touch.

"They found payments made from the account of a shell corporation connected to the blackmailer, one Agent Shaw uncovered. Payments to Dick Coonan ostensibly for his fake charity work in the Middle East that were then transferred to Coonan personally. Four payments of $25,000, made just before and just after January 1999," he finished as gently, if directly, as he possibly could. But of course, there was no way to soften the significance of it, that they had learned the literal price that had been placed on her mother's life: $100,000.

He wasn't sure exactly how he'd expected her to react, a gasp, a sob, a cry, something. But for a split second, she didn't seem to react at all, was frozen in place, not even breathing. And then she sucked in a shaky, shallow breath and he noticed with a spike of alarm that she was swaying slightly.

Oh god. "Kate!" Now, he did reach for her, his hands moving to grasp her arms to steady her but before he could touch her, she recoiled, a sound that was something between a sob and a cry escaping her. And then she was standing up and moving, a little shakily, towards the door.

Castle leaped to his feet and blocked the way back into the cabin, some corner of his mind reflecting peripherally that he would never have succeeded in doing so if Kate had been in her usual physical condition. But slowed as she was, he was able to do so with ease, placing one cautious hand on her shoulder. "You can't go inside, Kate, not yet," he told her gently. Not when she was still so upset because Jim would see and be worried. But Kate wasn't thinking clearly right now, he understood that. Was trying to run, to the extent she could, as if physically retreating would allow her to somehow avoid the meaning of what he'd just told her. Escaping from a truth that was too devastating to face head on.

Except running and hiding from the truth was never possible. Not really and certainly not now and he didn't only mean because of Kate's physical condition. It was also unlike Kate; she of all people knew how to face hard truths.

"Don't tell me what to do!" she flared back at him, although the anger in her voice was undercut as she ended on something like a sob. "You don't know—you're not the one who learned the price of your mom's life!"

He flinched at the thought but more at the pain in her voice. "Your dad's inside," he reminded her, not responding to her words. She was lashing out but she wasn't angry at him, he knew.

The mention of her dad made her stop, another shaky breath escaping her. "He can't know," she said immediately, sudden fierceness entering her tone. "He can never know."

"I know," he agreed soothingly, venturing to rest his hands on her arms, not quite holding her but not quite not.

She gave a few choppy gasps and for a minute just stood there, passively accepting his hold but not responding or encouraging it.

He waited, feeling as if they were almost teetering on a precipice. Waited to see if she would let him comfort her or if she would step back, away from him. If she would shove all her hurt deep inside, deal with it herself, alone. For an endless minute in which his lungs seemed to have forgotten how to function, she didn't move and he swore he could almost feel his heart solidifying into lead inside him. She was so strong and more than that, she was so used to being strong, self-sufficient. When she'd said she wasn't good at relationships, this was, he knew, at least partly what she'd meant. She wasn't used to letting someone care for her, wasn't comfortable with accepting this kind of support and caring. When she was hurt, she retreated to lick her wounds in solitude; it was what she was accustomed to, what came more naturally to her.

"Kate," he finally murmured. He wanted to tell her she wasn't alone, that he was here for her, ask her to let him in, but the words failed him, not least because he knew she already knew all that. It wasn't about not knowing.

A little shuddering breath escaped her and then she lurched forward a half-step as he caught her, wrapped his arms around her. A knot of tension loosened inside him as he tightened his embrace around her. She was letting him hold her. It was enough for now.

He had wondered if she would start to cry but she didn't. Her body was stiff and still and the fabric of his shirt was completely dry. She wasn't crying, or moving at all for that matter. And she didn't appear to be finding any comfort in his embrace judging from her tension.

He waited but after a long few minutes in which her tension didn't abate at all, he finally ventured, "Kate?"

She didn't respond immediately but then, she gritted out, her voice very low and half-muffled against his shirt, "I keep thinking Dick Coonan probably thought it was some kind of sick joke to ask for $100,000 in his deal to give up the mythical Rathborn."

Oh, right. He felt almost sick. That hadn't occurred to him but she was right. From what he'd heard, Dick Coonan was just that kind of sociopath to find some twisted humor in asking for the same amount of money he'd received for committing the murder and it did explain the specific amount. $100,000, not $50,000 or $75,000 or $150,000 or $200,000—any of those amounts would still have been an impossible sum for the city to pay and he could hardly believe Dick Coonan had a limit to his greed to keep him from asking for more. He was glad Dick Coonan was dead, he thought with sudden, cold savagery that startled him a little afterwards. He hoped the man had suffered excruciating pain from being shot before he'd actually died.

She paused and then added, so much suppressed fury in her voice, "I'm so _angry_."

"Of course you're angry," he agreed quietly. She had every right to be angry. He thought about the cold ferocity she displayed in the interrogation room, the controlled way she would tear into a suspect, especially the remorseless ones. The high value she placed on human life. And this was so much more personal. It was heinous, to think of a price being placed on any human life but for that price—and a ridiculously low price—to be placed on her mother's life. He had paid more than that for his Ferrari alone—he felt his gut twist again even at inadvertently seeming to compare the values of a car and Johanna Beckett's life.

No wonder she was still so tense; her fists clenched tightly between their bodies. He suddenly remembered something Ryan had mentioned once, shortly after he had started shadowing Beckett, that when she was angry or frustrated with a case, she often went up to the precinct gym to take her frustration out by pounding at a punching bag.

In her current physical condition, she couldn't do that but… "If you want to hit something, you can hit me," he offered without thinking about it. It sounded crazier than it was, he realized after he'd said it, but he knew she wouldn't hurt him.

"Castle—"

"I'm serious, Beckett. I'm not made out of glass; I won't break." He did not add that she wasn't at anything approaching her full strength right now so for once, he had no doubt that he was much stronger than she was physically.

She hesitated but then she pounded one fist against his chest once, twice. Ow. He grimaced although, as he'd expected, it hadn't actually hurt much. She'd been holding back; if she tried, even in her current state, he was sure she could bruise someone pretty badly.

It was a little strange perhaps but somehow, it had worked, he realized after a while. Letting her hit him, even in such a controlled fashion, had served as an outlet of sorts. Gradually, the tension seemed to ease out of her body as she curved more fully into him. Her fists unclenched until she was resting her palms against his chest instead and then, slowly, her hands crept around to his back until she was essentially nestled against him.

And it was only then that she started to cry. Silently, without sobbing, just slow tears trickling down her cheeks, he guessed, from the moisture steadily dampening his shoulder.

He didn't comment or react aloud at all, only settled his arms more firmly around her, one hand rubbing her back in what he hoped were soothing circles.

She didn't cry for long, just a few minutes, and then he could feel his shirt wasn't getting any more damp. (It was the only indication he had because he couldn't see her face, tucked against his shoulder as it was.)

And afterwards, she stayed, didn't stir from his embrace at all. She didn't say anything, was not sharing more of her thoughts and feelings but then he hadn't really expected her to. And it wasn't necessary. She was here, in his arms, wasn't retreating into solitude or otherwise trying to hide what she felt from him. She was letting him comfort her and that was more than enough. Words could come later.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that with her resting against him but it was long enough that Jim must have become curious, if not outright concerned, Castle realized, as he saw Jim peering out at them. He met Jim's eyes through the glass of the porch door, lifting one hand in a little wave which he hoped conveyed that everything was fine. It appeared to work because Jim nodded slightly and retreated, once more leaving them to their privacy.

It was another little while—Castle's best estimate would have been at least 15 minutes—before Kate stirred, lifting her head just enough to meet his eyes.

She offered him a pale attempt at a smile and he knew just from that, without the need for words, that she was, if not fine, better now, had regained some measure of control over her emotions.

He loosened his embrace, letting his hands slide up to rest on her shoulders instead, before he bent and brushed his lips against her temple.

"Kate?" He wanted to ask if she was okay but bit the words back because the question would be asinine. Of course she wasn't—could not be—okay, not yet.

"Castle," she sighed and then made a small face.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

She blinked. "For what?"

"For, well, this. I can't imagine how it must feel," he said helplessly. He knew she was devastated but he could not really understand, he knew that. Learning the price that had been placed on her mother's life was too far removed from anything in his life experience and too much for him to even imagine it. (He made a mental note to do something nice for his mother once he returned to the city.)

She pressed her lips together as pain flickered across her features. "I knew it had to be like this, the moment I learned it was a contract killing. There's always money involved. We'd already looked at Dick Coonan's financials last year."

He nodded. Ryan had said as much already. They had looked but without knowing anything more, it had been less like looking for a needle in a haystack as for an individual piece of hay in a haystack without knowing anything more of what distinguished said piece of hay from the rest. It had taken Agent Shaw digging into Bracken so they'd known what to look for.

But still, knowing that Coonan must have accepted money for killing Johanna Beckett was one thing but learning the actual dollar amount placed on her mother's life was another.

He hesitated but finally ventured on, "And I'm sorry because this isn't the end of it. It's another piece of the puzzle but it's still circumstantial evidence." It wasn't enough to definitively convict Bracken of Johanna Beckett's murder. They only knew what the payments had really been for because they knew what Coonan had done and why Bracken had ordered the killing but it wasn't proof. Coonan was dead and couldn't admit to what the payments had been for and a confession from Bracken was hardly reasonable to expect.

She nodded, sniffing a little, and lifted a hand to hastily wipe away the last traces of moisture from her cheeks. But all she said, with an attempt at sounding like her usual Detective Beckett self that fell flat, was, "Listen to you, Castle, sounding like a real cop."

Her courage, her strength, made his chest ache even as he thought he might never have admired her more. "I've learned a few things in the months of working with you."

"Yeah, you have." Her expression softened as she looked at him for a moment before she went on, with forced briskness, "We'll just have to keep digging."

Her attempt at bravado drained away leaving her looking tired and sad.

He automatically stepped forward and she rested her head against his shoulder again, although she didn't lean against him so fully this time. After a couple minutes, she murmured, "Thank you for being here."

"Always." The word was a vow.

There was another silence that was eventually broken by the hoot of an owl from what sounded like a surprisingly close distance. Other, quieter sounds from the forest had been audible before but they had been soft enough to be ignored but this one was louder and reminded him that it had to be getting late.

"I guess we should go inside."

He looked at her, studied her expression for a moment, before agreeing. She looked calmer, more like herself again. It should be enough to keep Jim from noticing anything amiss. He stepped back but reached out to grasp her hand.

They turned and returned inside together.

Jim immediately turned to look at them. "Everything okay?"

Castle mustered up an easy smile. "Fine, Jim. It's just such a nice night outside that I didn't want to come inside immediately." He fell back on the acting ability he'd inherited from his mother as he added, with apparent self-consciousness, "And the moonlight tonight made the whole atmosphere and setting too romantic not to take advantage of."

Beckett, clever as she was, interjected without missing a beat, "Ssh, Castle," and then added, addressing Jim, "He's too much of a writer, Dad; it was useless to try to talk him out of it," shooting Castle a semblance of a teasing look just as if he had persuaded her to linger outside for a romantic interlude in the moonlight.

This bit of play-acting made Jim chuckle a little but then he quickly changed the subject, as Castle had expected Jim would since Castle doubted there was a father alive who was comfortable with hearing anything about his daughter and romance. Which also ensured Jim would not study Kate too closely, a little embarrassed as he was.

The rest of the evening was spent in casual conversation, Castle deliberately taking it on himself to do most of the talking, choosing to regale both Jim and Kate with talking about Alexis and her boyfriend, Ashley, and all Alexis had told him about Ashley's preparations for leaving for college, along with some unfeigned fretting of his own at Alexis's plans to graduate early and leave for Stanford sooner.

Jim exchanged a smiling look with Kate. "I remember when your mom and I dropped you off at Stanford for the first time." He shook his head a little and gave a reminiscent, rueful smile. "I remember there being a lot of tears. Not from Katie, mind you," Jim added dryly, addressing Castle.

Castle didn't need to pretend curiosity. "Do tell. I'd love to hear more about Beckett leaving for college."

Kate laughed a little. "Okay, Dad, if you're going to start telling stories, I think that's my cue to leave. Just remember, don't tell Castle too much; he doesn't need the encouragement."

Jim gave a little chuckle and lifted one hand as if swearing an oath. "I'll remember, Katie; your secrets are safe with me."

It was, Castle knew, her way of glossing over the fact that she was already exhausted although it was too early to go to bed, under normal circumstances at least. And he and Jim would both go along with the pretense. Castle made a show of pouting as Kate pushed herself to her feet, moving with the caution that she always employed these days and that was so hard to witness.

"Good night, Dad." She paused to pat Jim's shoulder as she passed him. "Night, Castle."

"Sleep well, Katie-bug."

"Until tomorrow, Beckett."

Kate's steps slowed as she briefly glanced back at him, meeting his eyes, and he knew they were both remembering an exchange they'd had two years ago about why he didn't just say, 'night.' Her lips curved faintly at the memory and then she turned, disappearing into her own room.

Castle blinked and attempted to hide how carefully he'd been watching Kate, asking rather randomly, "Was it hard, letting Kate go to college across the country?"

His effort was unnecessary as Jim was clearly just as concerned for Kate and not noticing much else as he watched her. "Well, yes, of course, but I'd had quite a bit of time to get used to the idea. I realized fairly early on after Katie started high school that she wasn't going to be satisfied staying very close to home for college." He gave a half-rueful grimace. "She was so eager to leave the nest, be a grown-up. Always independent, my Katie."

Castle smiled faintly. "I can imagine."

As had happened the previous evening, he and Jim didn't linger over their conversation for long once Kate had retired, with Jim shortly afterwards excusing himself to call a friend. Also as he had the previous evening. If it had been anyone else, Castle might have suspected a love interest, with phone calls every evening, but he couldn't imagine Jim dating anyone; the way he spoke about Johanna made it clear his heart was still very much filled with her, understandably.

Castle stood and made his way to Kate's door, tapping on it tentatively.

"Come in, Castle."

He pushed open the door, although he just poked his head inside initially. "How'd you know it was me?"

Kate gave him one of her trademark Beckett looks when he was being silly and he felt his heart lift at the sight. Yes, she was all Beckett in these moments.

He ventured inside since she was simply seated on her bed, showing no signs of actually preparing for bed yet. "I was just, well, curious to see how you're doing," he offered lamely. He could hardly tell her in so many words that he was so worried about her he was reluctant to let her out of his sight. And of course, there was no way he was leaving the cabin tomorrow. He couldn't leave now, not until he was better reassured about Kate's state of mind.

She gave him another look that told him she saw right through him. Of course she did.

He sat down on the single chair in her room, facing her. It was his first time inside her bedroom and at another time, he would have been avidly looking around for evidence of the young Kate but right now, after the news Kate had learned, he was too concerned about her to focus on anything else. "Your dad's on the phone with a friend of his."

Kate's expression sobered. "He's talking to his sponsor. He's been talking to him every day lately. He didn't used to but these days, I guess he's feeling the strain."

Oh. Jim's past struggles had somehow slipped Castle's mind. Jim seemed to be taking things in stride but of course, Jim would be trying not to worry Kate. Jim was as strong as his daughter was, wasn't he?

"Oh, right," he murmured.

It occurred to him too how much Kate was trusting him, to tell him this. It didn't take much insight to know that Kate would not talk about her dad's past with most people.

"Your dad does seem to be coping, though."

"Yeah, I think so. I hope so." Kate's expression softened. "He's done so well for so long."

"He's strong, just like his daughter. And he knows he has you. 'The life that you saved,'" he repeated her words from two years ago, when she'd first told him about Jim's past struggles. He remembered the look on her face when she'd told him, the tears glittering in her eyes, and then the way she'd followed her revelation by a quip about Nikki Heat, making his heart clench with admiration and sympathy for her courage.

A faint smile curved her lips. "He saved himself, really. He had to decide he wanted to be saved and then stick to it."

"I'm sure your dad would give you more credit."

"He would, but he's biased."

"Maybe but when it comes to a father's view of his daughter, I have a theory that a father's bias makes fathers more reliable," he intoned with mock solemnity.

A smile tugged on her lips. "A theory like your alien abduction and CIA theories for cases?"

He made a face at her. "No, because this theory is based on my own personal experience."

A brief silence fell and while he'd intended to ask how she was, somehow, with the mention of Jim's past struggles hanging in the air and having seen the worry clouding her eyes at the mention of her dad's sponsor, he found himself blurting out instead, "I won't say anything about your mom's case to your dad. Not a word."

She looked at him levelly and he fought not to squirm or shift his weight or otherwise betray the way her gaze made him feel as if she were trying to read his mind—and succeeding. Not that he had anything to hide from her anymore but it wasn't a comfortable feeling either. He felt a brief spurt of sympathy for the suspects who had to face her down in the box. "I know you won't," she finally told him quietly.

She really did trust him, he thought, with a touch of awe and humility. She'd said she had forgiven him for what he'd done two years ago in looking into her mom's case without her permission and she had. He should be able to put it behind him as well. He should have more faith in her, in _them_.

Another silence fell which she broke by telling him, with a little sigh, "I think I just want to sleep on it, what the boys found out."

Of course she would need more time before she would feel nearly ready to talk about this. He'd known that but his own worry had made him impatient. He could wait. The important thing was that she wasn't pushing him away.

"Of course. I'll let you rest." He stood and bent to drop a kiss on her hair before going to the door, glancing back at her as he let himself out.

"Night, Castle."

"Til tomorrow, Beckett. For real, this time."

This addition to their earlier exchange made her smile and her smile, as always, kindled warmth—and hope—in his chest that lingered for the rest of the evening.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: Thank you to all readers and reviewers.


	35. Chapter 35

Author's Note: Apologies for not posting earlier but the Thanksgiving holiday weekend (which, I hope, everyone in the U.S. enjoyed) got in the way. In an attempt to make up for it, I'm posting this a little early.

**Nothing Lost**

_Chapter 35_

The next day, Kate was a little pale, a little quiet. It wasn't very noticeable, but Castle was watching and he could see that she was preoccupied, although she was making an effort to hide it from Jim, naturally. Castle exerted himself to that end, making a point of keeping Jim engaged in conversation, falling back on recounting some of his mother's greatest hits, both in her actual life and on stage, relying on his mother's dramas to distract Jim enough that he wouldn't dwell on Kate's subdued demeanor. Castle guessed that Jim noticed Kate was a little quieter than usual but it wasn't as if Kate had been prone to liveliness these days as it was so he thought—hoped—that Jim would simply assume it was due to Kate's physical condition and not inquire further, especially with Castle doing his part to keep Jim distracted.

It seemed to work. And for once, Kate's being on bed rest worked in their favor because it meant Jim didn't question it when Kate said she thought she would spend the afternoon lying out on the back porch, probably napping. Castle, of course, volunteered to keep her company and get some writing done. Kate suggested her dad go fishing because he hadn't had a chance to do so since they'd arrived at the cabin and after hesitating, Jim somewhat reluctantly agreed, saying he would call up an old friend of his, Roger, and see if Roger would be interested in joining him.

Kate encouraged Jim to go and Castle chimed in, reiterating that he was happy to stay with Kate so Jim could enjoy his afternoon. After loading his car with fishing gear—and repeatedly assuring them he would keep his cell phone on him at all times in case Kate needed anything—Jim drove off to meet with Roger for an afternoon of fishing, promising to return in a few hours, hopefully with fresh fish for their dinner.

Left alone, Castle saw Kate slump back onto the deck chair, closing her eyes. It was a little surprising, and so precious, to see the way her expression, her posture, changed, making it clear how much of an effort Kate had been making to keep her dad from noticing anything wrong—and what meant rather more to Castle—that she was not making that effort now with Castle. She wasn't hiding from him. He did wonder if it was, at least in part due to the fact that Kate was generally more vulnerable now, didn't have her usual reserves of strength, her usual Detective Beckett persona, to hide behind, but whatever the reason, he was glad.

And it occurred to him that if this—what had happened at Montgomery's funeral—had to have happened, this period of recovery might, in a strange way, be an opportunity for them, their relationship, to become stronger. No, these weren't ideal circumstances to be starting a relationship, Beckett was right about that, but they could try to make this work in their favor too. Her long recovery would give them a window of time to really adjust to being together, working together to deal with their issues, without the distraction of murders to solve or dealing with the precinct. Here, at the cabin, they had more privacy, Jim's presence notwithstanding. And Beckett was more vulnerable than usual, didn't have her customary defenses in place; he hated the fact but it was true.

He waited but when it became clear Kate wasn't about to talk, Castle finally ventured, "I didn't realize your dad was such an avid fisherman." Talking about Jim was a neutral subject, certainly easier than trying to broach what he knew they were both really thinking about, her mom's case.

Kate opened her eyes and slanted a small smile at him. "It's a hobby. My dad used to joke it was his excuse to get out of the house and away from all the estrogen since he was outnumbered by me and my mom."

"Hmm, maybe I should take up fishing." He was joking—mostly—since he wasn't exactly an outdoorsman.

"I'm sure my dad would be happy to show you the ropes and have you to keep him company."

"I might take him up on that one day." He shot her a teasing smirk. "But for now, you're not so terrible to spend time with."

She huffed a laugh at his phrasing. "Thank you, you're too kind," she drawled.

"I know. I'm really quite something," he pretended to preen.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him, as he'd expected she would, and he hid his satisfied smile. He did love it when she rolled her eyes at him. (That wasn't too weird, was it?)

Another silence fell and this time, Castle swore he would wait to see if she wanted to talk, share anything more about what she was thinking. And at least now he was reasonably hopeful that she would eventually talk to him. He could be patient.

Kate was lying back on the deck chair, her eyes closed, and if he hadn't been watching her as closely as he was, he might have thought she was falling asleep but he knew she wasn't. She wasn't quite relaxed enough.

He had brought out his laptop in the hope of getting some writing done but it was quickly apparent that he was too preoccupied with Kate at the moment to focus on Nikki Heat and set his laptop aside. Black Pawn had sent him a batch of upcoming releases for him to review and hopefully lend his name for complimentary quotes on the book jackets and he had also brought one of them outside with him. He was still distracted but it didn't take much focus for him to skim the book at least enough to get a sense of if he would bother to read it all the way through.

It was a while—he estimated it had been at least half an hour—before Kate stirred and then it was only to sigh softly and he glanced sharply over at her to see the faint trace of tears glistening on her lashes. His heart clenched. He'd known learning about the price that had been placed on her mom's life would devastate her but knowing didn't make it any easier to see her tears.

He hesitated, debating, wanting to do something, anything, to try to comfort her but couldn't think of what to say or do. He could tell her he was there for her, that she wasn't alone, but she knew that already and it couldn't make the pain go away. He wanted to pull her into his arms but in her current physical condition, movement was difficult for her so he couldn't do that either.

He eyed her deck chair consideringly, debating the feasibility of joining her on it so he could hold her, but reluctantly accepted it wasn't possible. The chair was narrower than the hospital bed had been, not helped by the arm rests, and even with Kate's slenderness, he doubted he would be able to join her on the chair without half-crushing her and even if he managed to squeeze in on his side, he didn't have enough confidence in his ability to stay balanced without tipping over on top of her, which in Kate's current condition, might send her back to the hospital. Would it have been too much for Jim to buy deck chairs that were wide enough to allow for cuddling, he thought in entirely unreasonable irritation—and then was ashamed of himself for his own irrationality, to say nothing of his ingratitude.

Finally, after a long minute, he settled for reaching out and resting his hand over hers, lightly at first, and then after a few seconds, when she turned her hand up under his to loosely curl her fingers around his, he echoed the movement, clasping her hand more firmly.

It was another long few minutes before she murmured, so quietly it might have been more to herself than to him, "I miss her."

There was, of course, no question who the 'her' was. He flinched at the depth of grief in her voice, his heart twisting inside him at the thought of the ongoing, lingering sadness she lived with. He knew enough about grief and loss to realize that on a normal day, the loss of her mom was something that she had accepted as a part of her, one that wasn't always actively painful. But this was not a normal time and the news would have brought back all her grief.

"I mean, I always miss her," she went on after a long minute, her quiet voice not entirely steady, a little watery. "But with everything we learn about her case… I just… it reminds me that nothing will bring her back."

She sniffed and lifted her free hand to swipe away the dampness on her cheeks.

His whole chest ached as if something were crushing his rib cage. He could tell her that he knew she missed her mom, which he did, but he didn't know how much that would help. "Would it help to talk about her?" he asked cautiously. He didn't know if it would help, if Kate would feel up to talking about her mom, but he remembered the way Jim had shared memories of Johanna and Castle also knew enough of people and society in general to know that they often avoided talking about death or the deceased because it made them uncomfortable. There was a reason grief support groups existed to allow people who were grieving to come together and talk about their feelings with people who understood and were willing to listen. But he could not imagine Beckett baring her soul to a roomful of strangers and he wasn't sure if she would feel able to talk about her mom much with Jim, for fear of paining him further.

She didn't respond for a long moment but looking at her, he didn't see rejection in her face, more… melancholy. "What was she like?" he ventured, in as mild and unassuming a tone as he could manage, not wanting to seem as if he was prying.

It was a long moment before she blinked rapidly before glancing at him, the palest of sad smiles just touching her lips. "She was everything I wanted to be."

He inwardly flinched even as he marveled at such a statement coming from Kate Beckett. The Beckett he knew best was confident, capable, and he didn't think he had ever heard her speak of anyone with such unreserved admiration. Even with Captain Montgomery, even before she had learned of his past and his betrayal, her respect had been held in check by realism, her understanding that even heroes had feet of clay. He could understand that part of it was a reflection of how young Kate had been when she'd lost her mom and since then, Johanna's memory had been preserved in time.

But even so, he had no doubt Johanna Beckett must have been an amazing woman, not only to have raised a daughter like Kate, but because Castle had enough respect for Jim to know it would take a special woman to have earned such lasting love and loyalty from Jim. Jim and Johanna Beckett had been married for well over 20 years. And Castle of all people knew how the challenges of married life, the unrelenting grind of reality, revealed the true character of the other person and could wear away not just the romance but also any warmth of emotion, leaving the relationship only a desiccated husk that would crumble at the lightest pressure. He made an inward grimace; okay, now he was waxing melodramatic because of his unwilling, undeniable envy over a lasting, happy marriage like that of Captain Montgomery and Evelyn, of Jim and Johanna.

This wasn't about him.

"I know you look a lot like her," he finally ventured.

A faint smile touched her lips. "So Dad always says. I do take after my mom a lot; my dad used to joke that clearly my mom's stubbornness extended to her genes because she won the contest of which parent I resembled the most."

"Your mom was stubborn? Somehow that doesn't surprise me," he murmured, faintly dry.

She shot him a look but didn't respond to his mild tease. "Yes, she was stubborn or as she liked to put it, she was dedicated, to her job, to the things that mattered the most to her."

"I'm sure she was a great lawyer."

She flicked a glance of some surprise at him but apparently accepted it as normal that he would know what her mom had done for a living. "She was and she worked hard to be as good as she was. When she was preparing for a trial, she worked long hours, both in her office, and then at home. My dad would go and persuade her to take a break and she'd resist but my dad usually succeeded. He knew my mom well and I remember a few times, he went so far as to confiscate the files she was reviewing until she took a break for a little while."

Castle's respect for Jim's toughness kicked up a notch. "From what I know of your mom, I'm surprised your dad dared." He imagined trying to pull Beckett away from the murder board, make her stop poring over a case when she was stalled, and inwardly grimaced. Anyone attempting to make Beckett stop working would be taking his life into his hands.

A small smile tugged on the corner of her lips. "The first time he did that, my mom did rather blow up at him but Dad stood his ground and Mom was the one who gave in, although she grumbled about it a little. And afterwards, she admitted the break had helped to clear her head and Dad said, 'I told you so,' and Mom laughed."

He blinked. "Your mom laughed when your dad said, 'I told you so.'?" In his experience, saying 'I told you so' usually irritated a person more.

A soft sound that was almost a laugh escaped her. "It's because 'I told you so,' was pretty much my mom's line, her four favorite words, we used to say. It became something of a running joke. Dad and I used to chime in sometimes when she said it."

"Oh." He was getting a clearer picture of what the Beckett family had been like when Kate was growing up, how happy they had been. Kate's story, as relatively mundane as it was, spoke volumes, perhaps because of its very mundanity, the intimacy and closeness revealed in having such running jokes.

Kate's smile faded, her expression becoming thoughtful. "Mom was like that, she was quick to laugh even after being irritated. And even as hard as she worked, she remembered to have fun too. My dad's the quieter, more serious one."

He wondered if Kate herself would have been more like her mom, quick to laugh, if her mom hadn't died, if Kate's childhood had not been cut short so brutally. He could guess that Kate had inherited at least some of Jim's tendency to seriousness and quiet but perhaps, if she hadn't suffered such a devastating loss, she would have retained more of her sense of fun, her playfulness—he had heard enough references to Kate's having gone through a wild child phase to know she had certainly been more than the strictly controlled detective she was now. She might have resembled her mom in personality even more. It was an unknowable hypothetical but he did wonder. More, he could only hope that after all, he could be good for Kate because of his lighter outlook on life, his own tendency to silliness to balance out her seriousness. He hoped so.

"No wonder it was so hard for your dad," he observed very quietly and then could have kicked himself as a spasm of something like pain flashed across her features.

"Yeah," she agreed so softly he could hardly hear it. "I didn't fully understand it until years later but it's true. That was the tragedy, that my mom was the one person who could have really helped my dad cope."

He reached over with his other hand until he was cradling her hand in both of his. "You did manage to save your dad," he reminded her gently. "Your dad's fine and enjoying himself fishing as we speak."

She blinked rapidly a few times and managed a wobbly smile. "I suppose this is the time to warn you that my dad will probably come home stinking of fish."

He forced a small smile to match hers. "We'll leave the windows open."

"Sounds like a plan."

There was a long pause that she finally broke by murmuring, "Mom was the cool parent, I guess you'd say. She only shook her head a little and smiled when I dyed my hair in high school and didn't say a word about it, although my dad was not happy. Mom mostly seemed to take my teenage years in stride and I wasn't an easy or a pleasant teen, not like Alexis is."

He felt the usual spurt of love and pride at the mention of Alexis. For all his fretting over Alexis, the measure of uncertainty and bumpiness that seemed to characterize his relationship with her the last couple years, at least when compared to the tranquility of their relationship when Alexis had been younger, he was thankful every day that his daughter was as sane and responsible as she was. The stories he heard from other parents of teenagers were enough to give him nightmares.

"Your mom sounds great. I wish I could have met her," he commented quietly.

"She would have liked you." And before he could even begin to get over this compliment, she added, "After all, she already liked your books."

His breath stuttered a little in his lungs as he stared at her. Her mom had read his books and not only that, had liked them?

She gave him a fragile wisp of a smile. "Surprise." The attempt at a smile faded quickly as she sobered. "I wasn't sure how to tell you."

Something in her tone, her expression, told him that what she meant was that she hadn't been sure how he would react. He wanted to think that he wouldn't have reacted smugly or crowed too obnoxiously, even if she'd told him back when they were first getting to know each other two years ago, but—he inwardly grimaced—he couldn't be entirely sure of that. He might have been cocky about it, out of sheer habit if nothing else.

"I had no idea," he finally responded lamely. Her mom had liked his books. He felt… awed, humbled. And for once, he wasn't sure if he could put into words what he felt.

"I didn't tell you but it was why I started to read your books." Her lips twisted ruefully. "Growing up, I never really read mysteries, was so focused on the classics so the only mysteries I read were things like Wilkie Collins or Daphne du Maurier. I didn't even read Agatha Christie. I thought I was so smart…" She paused. "When my mom died… she was in the middle of _A Season for Slaughter._" She released a rather shaky breath. "She didn't get to finish it so I… finished it for her. I even went to the cemetery and told her what happened, how it ended. And then I went back and read all your other books."

He might have forgotten to breathe as she told him how she'd first come to read his books but now he managed an uneven breath, feeling rather as if his lungs needed a reminder how to function. "Kate…"

She mustered up a semblance of a half-teasing smile. "It's the origin story of my becoming a fan."

He managed a small smile. "Thank you for telling me." He punctuated the words by lifting their joined hands to kiss her fingers.

For a man who made his living through words, she had reduced him to speechlessness very effectively. There was another long silence as he came to terms with all she'd just told him, how personal and poignant her revelations had been.

It was some time before she continued, clearly attempting to somewhat dispel the somberness of the atmosphere. "Dad's not much of a fiction reader and he used to tease my mom for her lowbrow reading tastes and how she enjoyed watching silly TV shows like _Temptation Lane_."

He blinked. Wait, what? "Your mom watched _Temptation Lane_, that t—daytime soap opera?" He bit back the automatic descriptor 'trashy' that came to mind.

"Wasn't Martha on _Temptation Lane_ for a little while? She was mauled by a bear or something, right?"

This distracted him from her revelations about his books. "Yeah, she was on the show for a few weeks, years ago, and her character suffered a ridiculous number of near-death experiences before finally being killed off." His mind put the pieces together and he gaped at her. "Wait. You watch _Temptation Lane_?"

She shot him a narrow-eyed look, biting her lower lip a little, which was answer enough.

Oh, she did. The serious, strait-laced Detective Beckett watched _Temptation Lane_, as bad a show as could be found on TV. On any other day, he might have burst out laughing and even today, he felt a small smirk tugging on his lips and he couldn't quite rein it in.

"Shut up, Castle."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were not saying anything very loudly."

He only waited and after a brief pause, she huffed a little and explained, her voice softening, becoming quieter, as she went on. "I was nine and I had to get my tonsils taken out. I was miserable and my mom took time off of work to stay with me. And we cuddled up on the couch and watched episodes of _Temptation Lane_." A small, wistful smile flickered over her lips. "I think I'd have preferred to watch something else but Mom said it was the perfect thing to take my mind off of how I was feeling and as usual, she was right. The show was so ridiculous and over the top that I forgot all about my tonsils."

"I can understand that." He smiled a little. He could picture the young Kate, just a little older than she'd been in the picture on the refrigerator, curled up on a couch beside Johanna, maybe with Johanna's arm around her and a blanket wrapped around them both. He and Alexis had curled up on the couch in similar fashion or sometimes inside a blanket fort when Alexis wasn't feeling well or otherwise wanted comforting.

"So whenever I see the show now, it makes me feel… like home and safe."

He didn't need to be told that Kate would not often have felt at home or safe in her adult life, not since her home and her sense of security had been ripped apart so brutally with the loss of her mom. His heart hurt. He could only hope and pray fervently that somehow, he could help with that, that he would be able to make her feel that way again going forward.

She managed an attempt at a smile. "So now you know my deep, dark secret. I'll allow you 30 seconds to get your mockery out of your system."

Not for the first time, he was amazed at her strength, to be able to find humor.

He was supposed to be the humorous one, the class clown who could make a joke out of anything. Her use of humor was worth so much more.

He lifted his free hand in a gesture of surrender. "I won't mock." he paused and added, trying to match her tone, "My DVR would make yours look like Masterpiece Theatre."

The corners of her lips twitched. "Somehow I don't find that at all hard to believe."

He returned her smile. "It's like you know me," he joked.

"I am a detective, you know."

He affected thoughtfulness. "Yes, I think I've heard that."

A little huff of breath that was the beginnings of a laugh escaped her and she managed a real, if small, smile. She squeezed his hand briefly, her eyes soft and clear as she met his. She looked… more like herself again, as if she had managed to find some measure of calm again, come to terms with her grief.

He felt the knot of worry that had been lodged inside his chest since yesterday evening start to dissolve. She was so resilient, his Beckett. He had never doubted that she could manage on her own, in time, but he hoped that he had helped. Looking at her now, he felt his heart leap. He couldn't help but think that the warmth in her eyes looked something like love…

It was mesmerizing. He leaned over and kissed her gently, tenderly. And all too briefly as his position wasn't exactly comfortable, the armrest of his deck chair digging into his side. Her hand came up to cup his cheek and he thought, hoped, that there was love in the small caress too.

When he straightened up, her lashes fluttered as she blinked rapidly and he thought he would never get over the thrill of knowing that his kiss could affect the strong-minded Detective Beckett so much.

They exchanged small smiles as a comfortable silence settled over them. It was surprising, considering what they'd learned about Johanna Beckett's murder just yesterday—had it really been less than 24 hours?—but for the moment, Castle thought he was, if not happy, at least content. His mood was still tinged with lingering worry over Kate, both physically and emotionally, but aside from that, he was content. Here, with Kate, the knowledge that she trusted him so much glowing like warm embers in his chest—how could he not be content?

It was, after the emotional upheaval of the last day, a needed interlude of quiet and peace. He felt himself finally relaxing more fully, leaning back in his deck chair. His eyes had fallen closed when he felt Kate's hand, still held in his, jerk a little and his eyes flew open to meet her quick glance and a nod out towards the forest.

He followed her gaze. It was a deer. Still some distance away from them, deeper in the woods, but still clearly visible through the foliage. Oh. Oh, wow.

He'd known the rural parts of New York had deer, of course, but he still felt a jolt of excitement like the city slicker he was. Moving very slowly, trying not to make any sound, he drew his phone out of his pocket. He was holding his breath, he belatedly realized, as he took a couple quick pictures.

The deer didn't stay put for long, naturally, maybe a minute or so before it moved on, pacing steadily away and out of sight. He was, irrepressibly, reminded of Bambi, those first glimpses of Bambi's father, the stag's majestic movements, although this deer was a female.

He looked over at Kate to see some of his own excitement reflected in her expression. "That was awesome," he breathed, his voice coming out barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," she agreed, equally quietly.

"Do you see a lot of deer around here?"

"No, not a lot. They avoid people, you know, but over the years, I've seen a few." She paused and added more soberly, "And every once in a while, we hear reports of car accidents at night involving deer getting hit."

That sobered him. "Oh." After a moment, he added, "I have to text Alexis about this."

Her expression softened, a small smile curving her lips. "Of course you should."

He sent Alexis the picture he'd taken of the deer, with the caption, _Kate and I just saw Bambi's cousin. _

Alexis responded within minutes. _Aww, that's so cool, Dad! And say hi to Kate! _

He smiled and turned his phone so Kate could read the message as well.

Kate smiled. "Tell Alexis I say hi too."

He duly did so.

"Castle?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you need to leave, go back to the city?"

He looked sharply over at her. "Trying to get rid of me, Beckett?" he quipped. It was a joke, really and truly. Maybe because the last day had proven dramatically just how much she trusted him but he didn't feel even a twinge of angst at her question. He was amazingly, wonderfully, certain that she didn't want to be rid of him.

She gave him a small smirk but answered honestly, "I was just thinking about Alexis. Are you okay with leaving her alone for so long?"

"She's not alone; my mother is with her," he answered automatically and then grimaced a little. "But you're not wrong. I was actually thinking I might need to go back to the city for a couple days to spend time with Alexis."

"You should go, Castle," she encouraged. "I know you miss her and I'm sure she misses you."

He hesitated. "Are you sure, Kate? I can stay for another couple days. Alexis really is okay with me being here. And after, well, everything, I don't want to leave you alone," he admitted.

"I'm not alone; I have my dad."

He studied her. He wasn't surprised that Kate was encouraging him to return to the city for Alexis's sake; of all people, she would never ask him to choose her over his daughter. She would always say she was fine and with her dad for company. But Jim didn't know about the latest development in Johanna's case and Castle really could not—would not—leave Kate to deal with it alone. But of course, he also knew Kate too well to want to put his lingering worries for her into words. Even now, he didn't think she would appreciate it. "You're really sure?" he settled for asking again.

She met his eyes with her usual directness. "I'm sure." She paused and then went on, her tone softer, "Besides, we'll still talk and once you've spent some time with Alexis and Martha, if they're okay with it and if you want to, you could come back out here," she offered tentatively.

"I'll come back," he agreed immediately. "Of course I'll come back." As if there could ever have been any doubt about that. His silly Beckett.

He was rewarded with a smile. "Good. And I'm sure I speak for my dad too when I say that you'll be welcome anytime."

He echoed her smile. "Then, how can I resist? I'll take you up on that invitation," he told her lightly, tightening his grasp on her hand.

"Okay, good. I'll tell my dad."

He paused and then ventured, "Well, then, if you're really sure, I guess I could leave after lunch tomorrow?"

She nodded, giving him a distinctly reassuring smile. "It's up to you. It's not like I have a very busy schedule," she added wryly.

"I'll leave after lunch, then," he confirmed. Even just a few days ago, he could not have imagined deciding to return to the city and leaving Kate with such equanimity but it was true. He might not be thrilled at the thought of leaving her, even if just for a few days—he could never be happy to leave Kate for any length of time—but now, this time, he was certain that they would still talk. And he would be back.

It was enough for him.

And in the meantime, he would be able to spend time with his daughter and spending time with Alexis could never be a bad thing.

He met Kate's eyes. He had always believed in her; now he found he also believed in _them_, their relationship, and he knew they were going to be fine, better than fine.

_~To be continued…~ _

A/N 2: I hope I managed to do the conversation Kate and Castle had about Kate's memories of Johanna justice. As always, thank you to all readers and reviewers, especially the guests whom I can't thank directly.


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